


hey babe, are you garbage 'cause i wanna take you out

by pepperfield



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "Love triangle", Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Animal Transformation, Banter, Cats, Delinquents, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Gangs, Gen, Haunted Houses, Ice Cream Parlors, Love Confessions, M/M, Music, One Shot Collection, Pining, Post-Break Up, Reincarnation, Requited Love, Reunions, Role Reversal, School Festivals, Supervillains, Teamswap AU, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2018-11-30 16:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11467491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperfield/pseuds/pepperfield
Summary: A collection of short standalone kurodai fics, each based on a trope/prompt!I'm trying to get in the habit of writing short fic again; throw a prompt my way and I'll see what I can do!xiv. criminal au“Oh, not the hamburger place again, officer.”Kuroo stumbles over his own foot, steps right into a gray puddle that soaks into his ankles, and curses the day he ever made the unfortunate acquaintance of Tokyo’s most troublesome criminal. At least he didn’t drop his burger this time.“You have no right to judge my dietary choices. You wear orange spandex,” he snaps.





	1. time travel

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write more of these nerds while working slowly on [_ain't even...say yes_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6157870/chapters/14109283), so here we go! Currently going through a list of tropes borrowed from [trope bingo](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org), but I'm always open for suggestions! Kurodai until I (kuro)die, right?!
> 
> Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns, and thank you for reading!!

“Remember, tomorrow night, okay? I’m meeting you at seven sharp, so don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t you already know if I show up late?” Daichi teases, listening for the indignant huff that Kuroo’s going to make.

Sure enough: “Daichi. How many times are we going to go over this.”

“I dunno, Tetsurou, why don’t you tell me? Pop forward a couple of years and find out for me. Also, let me know if I’ve inherited my grandpa’s receding hairline. I’m not gonna do anything about it, but I’m curious.”

“Remind me again why I’m dating you? Because it definitely can’t be for your relentless sass. That can’t be it.” Kuroo is pouting, and probably rolling petulantly around on his hotel bed, Daichi just knows it.

“I love you too,” he replies warmly, knowing that after he hangs up Kuroo will scream into his pillow. Hopefully not too loud; Daichi doesn’t want him getting ejected from his room while abroad. “I’ll call you tomorrow after our date, okay? Good luck with the presentation.”

“Have fun,” Kuroo mumbles, followed by a muttered, “God, it’s not fair - _I’m_ the one who misses you. This should be _my_ date!”

“You’ll get your turn again when you’re back in two weeks. Don’t worry, I know you’ll show me a good time. Sleep well, Kuroo. Goodnight.”

“Night, Daichi,” Kuroo says gently, and for a moment Daichi can pretend he isn’t ten thousand kilometers away.

\--

As promised, Kuroo arrives right on the dot, stumbling a bit when he almost walks into a coffee table that he wasn’t aware of.

“Whoa, when do we buy this? It’s good; makes us seem almost like functional adults.”

“We don’t have anybody fooled, even with the table,” Daichi tells him with a smile, taking in his appearance. He’s wearing his best pair of jeans and a pleasant gray cardigan, though what Daichi notices most of all is the spring in his hair that shows up only when he tries unsuccessfully to tame it. “Nice hair. I’d almost guess you were nervous about this.”

Kuroo comes around to join Daichi on their couch, flopping down and ruining the mystique of his unusually put-together image. “Well, you know, I wasn’t sure what I was walking into. You’re _older_ and _worldly_ now, and I didn’t want to be a disappointment.”

Daichi laughs. Tucking his knees up, he makes room for Kuroo to scooch closer to him. “Trust me, I’m not disappointed. And I’m barely older than you. You’re from ten months ago? Nine?”

“Ten months and four days. That’s like a whole school year! If we were still in school, I’d have to call you Daichi-senpai,” Kuroo says, wiggling his eyebrows, and Daichi grabs a cushion to smack him.

“Alright, enough of that. Where are you bringing me? If we’re going midnight fishing again, Kuroo, I swear to god…”

“Nah, we’re going traditional today. Dinner and a movie. Maybe some ice cream and making out. It depends on how the rest of the night goes, I guess.”

Daichi narrows his eyes, studying Kuroo’s face carefully. “Movie, huh. You just came over because you wanted to see that new superhero film early, didn’t you?”

“What! No, what do you take me for?” Kuroo sits straight up, his hand resting on Daichi’s knee. “I came to soothe you in your time of loneliness, darling. To give you a shoulder to cry on while your boyfriend neglects you.”

“You’re the same person,” Daichi says, shaking his head fondly. “And you’re not neglecting me, you’re just really busy right now. You’ll see.”

“Shhh,” Kuroo hisses, placing his finger to Daichi’s lips. “You know you’re not supposed to tell me too much about the future.”

“I don’t see why it matters. Aren’t you going to show up in a few months asking about when you should take me on this exact date?”

“Yeah, but that’s the me of the past in the future asking about the past.”

“You _cannot_ tell me that’s not literally the same thing!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it some day. I assume,” Kuroo says kindly, and he pulls Daichi to his feet. “Now let’s get going - I can hear your stomach growling already.”

“Keep talking about my stomach and there certainly won’t be any making out tonight.”

“Aw, you know I love all of you, Sawamura, tummy included.”

\--

When Daichi kisses Kuroo goodnight, he tastes like the black sesame ice cream from earlier that night. Daichi sees him off outside their apartment, with the city lights of Tokyo setting the scene.

“I’ll see you in ten months and sixteen days,” Daichi says, and Kuroo smiles, leaning down to press another kiss to his cheek.

“Will you invite me in then?”

“Yeah. I might even let you stick around. Get home safe, Tetsurou.”

“I always do. Not so lonely anymore, right?” he asks, brushing his thumb over Daichi’s jawline.

Daichi leans into the touch before shaking his head. “No, I’m good. I shouldn’t keep you any longer though. I think your Daichi’s almost done with his project, and he misses you too.”

Even under the buzzing corridor light Kuroo still has his own glow. “Yeah, I think it’s time for me to go home. Until next time.” He takes a step away, readying himself to hop back in time.

“Yep, next time,” Daichi agrees. “Oh, and Kuroo,” he adds, “dress nicely tomorrow too, why don’t you? I get the feeling you might want to.” If memory serves him correctly, and he’s sure it does, _that_ date goes quite well too.

Kuroo groans when he realizes. “Dammit, Daichi, what did I tell you?! We don’t talk about the future!” He’s still shaking his head as he blips away into thin air.

“Love you too,” Daichi says with a grin, and it’s true, past, present, or future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it obvious how much I love the "next time" exchange from chapter 97? Because I do love it. A lot.


	2. love triangle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, no one's feelings get hurt here! This is a very silly chapter. Set in a generic self-indulgent post-canon scenario where the captains live in an apartment together.

Bokuto tries to keep his face neutral as he slides into the chair next to Kuroo, but his twitching eyebrows give him away.

“I’m done for, aren’t I?” Kuroo asks morosely, slumping onto the cafe table. One of the three empty paper cups next to him tips over, and a few drops of cold coffee trickle out.

“Yeah, it, uh- it looks not so great for you, bro. You shoulda seen his face, he was looking at her like...like-”

“Like a revelation,” Akaashi supplies helpfully, taking the other chair at the table. “He couldn’t take his eyes off her.”

Kuroo makes a miserable noise, and Bokuto pats him heartily on the back. Akaashi cuts his brownie into thirds and slides a piece over to Kuroo on a napkin.

“You don’t stand a chance, Kuroo-san. Sorry,” he says, and Kuroo crams the brownie into his mouth in one go. It’s delicious and makes him feel like garbage. But he’s succeeding pretty well at that on his own, too. He should’ve fortified his resolve and just taken the chance before this whole new mess began. Now the thought of going through another week, or month, or miserable year drowning in his hopeless feelings without any closure is unbearable. It’s time to let go or make a move.

“ ‘m not giffin up o’ S’wamura,” he garbles out through his full mouth. His fist thumps against the table, which only serves to rattle his own face.

“Good attitude!” Bokuto says. “You were so close to asking him out last time! I know she’s taking up all his attention right now, but you still have a shot, so don’t quit now!” He smiles encouragingly at Kuroo, but there’s still a slight furrow in his brow.

Kuroo sits up and chugs half of Bokuto’s americano for courage, ignoring his friend’s yelp, and stands with a clatter. He's going to do this. So what if there's a complication in the picture? He won't know until he asks.

“I’m gonna do it. _Right now_. Here I go. Going now. To ask Daichi out.” For some reason, his legs are moving in jerking marionette motions, like he has rusty joints, but he makes it all the way to the door before he realizes the surging restlessness in his stomach is the same as the anticipation he feels before a match. “Oh my god, I’m going to screw this all up,” he moans, freezing right before the cafe exit like a bedraggled doorman.

“Won’t know ‘til you know,” Bokuto says, planting a firm hand on Kuroo’s back and shoving him into the door. Kuroo’s cheek gets plastered against the plate glass unattractively. “He’s back at the apartment with the others.”

“Great, so everyone gets to watch me ruin my own life.”

“Don’t mind, don’t mind,” cheers Akaashi in monotone, not bothering to look up from his phone. Kuroo can’t even glare at him before Bokuto throws him out of the cafe.

On his way back to the apartment, he texts Kenma a dozen sad emojis which all go tragically unread, and then there’s only him, standing outside his door and waiting for a sign from above that this is a terrible idea. Like a very small meteor striking him down, or a pigeon divebombing him again like last week. But nothing happens.

Okay. He'll just have to separate Daichi from the rest of the group. He doesn’t know what to do about their newest addition yet; Kuroo hasn’t actually met her in person, so anything could happen. Maybe he can foist Suga on her or something, keep her distracted while he absconds with Daichi. That’s risky though. It’s always a toss up whether Suga will comply with Kuroo’s schemes. Sometimes it seems like it depends on the weather that day.

While Kuroo wears a furrow into the floor in front of his apartment the door finally swings open, revealing an obnoxiously fresh-faced Oikawa toting a bag of trash. He stops short when he sees Kuroo stalking back and forth like a creep, and a horrible, horrible smile slinks onto his dumb, shining face.

“Kuro-chan! Tettsun! Our cute little kitty’s finally decided to stop sulking and come home, huh?”

“Can we speed this up?” Kuroo asks, tired already. “I need to go make a bad decision.”

Oikawa frowns, shaking a reproachful finger at him. “Can't you let me enjoy this? It's rare to see you so declawed and useless. I just want to make a beautiful memory.”

“When you throw that out, don't forget to toss yourself in too,” Kuroo snipes, gesturing at the bag in Oikawa’s hand.

But he just laughs, patting Kuroo on the arm as he passes by. “Don't look so glum. I don't know what you're thinking, but she hasn't dethroned you in Dai-chan’s heart. Have hope.” He lifts one leg and boots Kuroo solidly into the apartment before strolling away whistling. 

Kuroo almost stumbles into Shimizu, who’s walking into the kitchen with Azumane. He barely straightens himself in time, flinging himself into some sort of pose against the wall and hoping it looks intentional. He's already set to embarrass himself in front of all of Daichi’s friends - he doesn't need to get a head start on it. “Hey,” he says coolly, because that's what he is. A cool, chill, in control dude. “You guys need anything? Help yourself; clean glasses are in the cupboard.”

“Thank you, Kuroo-san, but we were just going to get some water for Mochi,” Shimizu tells him, bowing her head as she passes. 

“She looked thirsty, but Daichi’s kind of worthless right now, so.” Azumane shrugs, sending an amused glance back toward the living room. Kuroo nods at them and leaves them to carry on as they were as his insides continue to do gymnastics on his ribcage.

What kind of name is _Mochi_ , he shrieks mentally to himself as he approaches the living room. _That's_ what Daichi is into???

He has to resist the urge to throw his hands over his face when he hears Sugawara’s laugh, doubtlessly caused by _her_. Instead, he drags his fingers carelessly through his hair, wondering when he became such a jealous loser. God. This is going nowhere. He needs to just suck it up and _get this done_.

With one more breath, he does his most casual stride into the living room, trying to look nothing but super nonchalant. From the flicker of confused unease that passes over Suga’s face, it's not a success.

But Daichi must not notice, because he beams when he sees Kuroo hovering there like an unpleasant stench. Maybe he's just blinded by his newfound infatuation, Kuroo reasons. Everything must seem like roses and fireworks to him right now.

“Kuroo! Welcome home! Have you met Mochi yet?” Daichi carefully stands with Mochi, and walks toward Kuroo when he shows no signs of moving. Still smiling, he says, “C’mon, hand,” and waits patiently until Kuroo sourly extends his hand out.

Mochi blinks back at him with wide green eyes, before she turns in Daichi’s arms and starts licking her leg. It's adorable. Kuroo scowls.

“I can't believe you got another cat,” he growls, bitterly petting Mochi’s head. Her white fur is soft and downy. She purrs happily, rubbing back against Kuroo’s hand, and he grits his teeth. Awful charming cat. Who has business being this friendly?

“What do you mean ‘another’?” Daichi asks with a smirk. “I don't own any other cats.”

Kuroo glares, Daichi grins, and Mochi goes back to cleaning herself. From the couch, Suga makes something like a retching noise.

“And what kind of name is Mochi?” Kuroo barrels on, snatching his hand away from his replacement.

“Would you have preferred Shiro?” Daichi shoots back, breaking eye contact to rub his face against Mochi because he’s a disgusting pet-owning cliche. Mochi baps him gently on the nose before squirming free and leaping down to the ground. Still completely besotted, Daichi’s about to trot after her when Shimizu appears. She places the paper bowl at her feet and crouches down with Azumane to watch the cat drink. Even they look hypnotized - Azumane reaching a shaking hand out to try and pet her head. Kuroo watches the whole scene with unbridled irritation.

“You look like something’s bothering you,” Suga trills, clambering over cushions to perch on the back of the couch next to Kuroo as they watch the cluster of brunets on the floor cooing at Mochi, who dances away.

“Do I.”

“You really do,” says Oikawa on his other side, and Kuroo tries not to jump out of his skin. It’s unsettling how stealthy he can be sometimes, considering how generally attention-grabbing he is on the court. “What’s wrong, Kuroo? You look like you’re about to have kittens,” he teases, and Suga lets out a half-choked laugh.

Ugh, _setters_ , Kuroo thinks with a rush of distaste, then feels instantly guilty about it. He sends a psychic apology to Kenma.

“I can think of at least two things bothering me at this exact moment,” he mutters as he studies the way Daichi’s smile goes lopsided when Mochi crawls back into his lap. Oikawa leans up close to stare at Daichi too, and Kuroo elbows him away. “They both have bad personalities and worse hair.”

“Don’t be mean to Asahi,” Suga chides while Oikawa just elbows him back twice as hard.

“Okay, let’s get serious,” Oikawa finally spits out after he and Kuroo elbow-duel until they’re both wheezing for breath. “Are you going to finally step up, or am I going to be helping you download dating apps this weekend?”

“I’m stepped up,” Kuroo insists. Suga falls into a coughing fit. The other three former Karasuno members swivel toward him in concern and he stops, giving them a little wave. They watch him for a moment longer, eying the other two with suspicion but eventually decide that Suga is fine. When they turn their attention back toward Kuroo’s usurper, he hisses, “Really! I’m as up as I can be. At the very top. About to just- just go and fucking do it.” He gestures weakly at Daichi.

“Sounds good!” Suga says, smiling widely as he calls, “Daichi! Kuroo needs you for a sec.”

Kuroo’s glad that Oikawa punches him kindly in the stomach when he hears him beginning to hyperventilate as Daichi leaves his cat in Shimizu’s hands. It hurts more than expected though. He’s learned too well from Suga and Iwaizumi.

“What’s up?” Daichi asks and Kuroo must do something that implies “walk with me,” because they head down the hallway toward the bedrooms, and Kuroo almost bites his tongue on a curse because both of their rooms are way too close to the living room, and those nosy bastards are definitely going to try to listen in.

The universe decides it’s finally going to give Kuroo a sign, but it’s the “get on with it” kind rather than a “you’ll regret this forever” kind. The door at the very end of the hallway swings open, and Ushijima steps out.

“I finished the sign,” he says, holding up a piece of paper that says “Mochi’s bowl!” and is decorated with paw prints and fish. For something clearly made in MS Paint, it’s actually quite nice, though why they need a sign, Kuroo has no idea. “Why do we need a sign again?” Ushijima asks, and Kuroo almost wants to hug him for being the last sane person who lives in this hell house.

“Just in case. I don’t really trust them not to do something stupid while drunk. It looks great,” Daichi tells him. The them is vague and general, and Kuroo thinks that’s fair. He could honestly see Oikawa, Bo, or himself trying to chug a refreshing bowl of cat’s water while smashed.

“...do you really expect them to read?” Ushijima asks, which is also fair, and Daichi pauses before clapping Ushijima on the back.

“We’ll discuss that some more later. Maybe add a visual aid. More pictures than words.”

“Hey, man, can we borrow your room for a bit?” Kuroo asks. They have the best illusion of privacy there.

Ushijima nods, but warns them, “Just don’t rearrange any of the Jump manga. Tendou will complain when he visits.” He starts to walk away, then remembers to add on, “And don’t have sex on my bed.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kuroo splutters as Daichi almost faceplants into the wall. He practically slams the door closed behind them before any of those wolves can come around trying to sniff out information.

“So, tell me honestly,” Daichi says seriously after sitting cross-legged on Ushijima’s floor. “Did you bring me in here to help you defile Ushiwaka’s bed?”

“ _No_ , god, c’mon,” Kuroo sighs as Daichi fights a smile. “If I was going to do that to anyone, it wouldn’t be Ushiwaka.”

“Not Moniwa-kun.” He looks aghast.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Of course not. What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“The animal hating kind, apparently,” and that, coupled with a raised eyebrow leaves Kuroo on the defensive.

“Okay, that’s- that isn't a fair assessment of my character, because this whole Mochi business is- it's not the usual-” Kuroo has no idea what he's saying. Neither does Daichi.

“Kuroo, it's okay if you don't want to help take care of Mochi. You seemed alright with it when I asked, but I didn't mean to pressure you into accepting an apartment pet,” Daichi says apologetically. “We'll figure out a way to try and keep her out of your room.”

“No, Mochi’s not the problem. She's fine. She's cute.” It would help if Kuroo didn't sound so begrudging about it. He sighs again. Might as well show his whole hand. “Look. This is so stupid. But, uh, I guess maybe I'm jealous of your cat?”

“Jealous? Of all the head-pats and five star cat food I give her?” Daichi jokes, then double takes when Kuroo scrunches his face but doesn’t deny it. “Wait, seriously?”

“Not of the cat food, you fool.” Kuroo puts his face in his hands and lets out a despondent groan.

“Are you sure? I could buy you some. It was rated 4.8 stars online; reviews say it’s pleasingly crunchy.”

“Crunchy.”

“Yep.” A hand comes up to card gently through Kuroo’s hair, massaging at his temples. “Head-pats come free.” He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh; Kuroo hates how much he loves it.

He lifts his head to stare wretchedly at Daichi’s beautiful face, hair still mussed as Daichi runs his hand through a few more times, and finally gives in.

“The day you first told us about Mochi - that was the day I’d made up my mind. To, uh. Tell you something. But then you said you’d finalized all the adoption papers with the shelter, and there was just so much going on that my timing was all wrong, and I couldn’t go through with it.”

Kuroo loves the crease that appears at the corners of Daichi’s eyes when he’s genuinely smiling. “So you’re mad at my cat for stealing your thunder.”

“Yes! Because I had this whole plan, you know? I was gonna ask you to come on a hike with me - there's a nice spot in that park a few blocks away - and then we’d go buy buns and iced coffee, and the sun would be setting when I confessed...it was going to casual but fun, and you would be convinced that I was boyfriend material.” Kuroo ends his sad confession by tipping over from seated to flat on the floor, halfway under Ushijima’s bed. At least it's clean and roomy down there.

Daichi doesn't show any sign of surprise other that a quick widening of his eyes. “Would I?” he asks warmly. 

“I was hoping.”

Leaning back on his arms, Daichi hums, and looks around the sparsely decorated room. “Well, I feel like I should let you know that owning a cat and having a boyfriend aren't actually mutually exclusive, no matter what people say.”

“But the _timing_ ,” Kuroo complains. “Isn't one disruption to your schedule enough? You already need to get used to living with a new pet; dating, on top of all that - isn’t it just too much pressure?”

“You think I can’t handle it, is that what you’re saying? Do you think you’re too much for me, Kuroo?”

He’s teasing again, but there’s a familiar set to his mouth, and Kuroo’s instinct is to poke at him until he reacts.

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘too much’, but I don’t want you to bite off more than you can chew, either. You don’t have much experience with either cats or boyfriends, right?”

Daichi’s eye twitches, but he gets it under control, tightening his jaw when he asks, “Is that a _challenge_? Because if it is, I accept.”

Kuroo was ramping up to really get his provocation going, but he stops too quickly at this turn in conversation and almost bites his tongue. “Huh?”

“You think I can’t balance both you and Mochi in my life? I’ll show you just how wrong you are. I’m going to date the hell out of you, Kuroo,” Daichi declares. 

“Wait, are you serious?” Kuroo asks, propping himself up off the ground.

“Yep.” Daichi pats his cheek briskly, stands, and marches out of the room. “Alright, let’s go break the news to the others. And rescue my cat from Oikawa’s clutches.”

“No, Daichi, are you like _really_ sure about this? ‘Cause I don't want you to agree just because your pride is on the line.” Kuroo hurries down the hallway after him. He can hear voices and laughter in the other room.

“Tetsurou,” Daichi says, turning to corner him against Bokuto’s door. “Do you think I'd agree to this if I didn't want to date you?” He looks heartily amused, standing intimately close but giving Kuroo enough space to still breathe. 

“Man, I dunno, I wouldn’t put it past you to do something out of a misplaced sense of duty.”

Daichi nods, understanding. “Trust me, I mean it. If you want, you can try finally asking me. If you still feel the same way, that is.”

“Of course I do,” Kuroo says, staring down at him. The thumbtacks holding up the poster on Bo’s door dig into his back and he chews the inside of his cheek as he gathers the courage to ask, even though he has fair enough guess what the answer will be. With another quick breath, he finally takes the plunge. “Daichi. I know we’ve been friends for a while now, but I really like you, and I’d like to take you on a date some time.”

“That sounds nice,” Daichi responds with a grin. “I’d like that too. See? Not too hard.”

Kuroo wants to protest, but the sound of applause from the other end of the hallway is a much more pressing problem. They both turn to see most everybody else in the apartment peeking over with Suga and Bokuto leading the crowd like a live studio audience. Even Akaashi and Shimizu are quietly following along. Only Ushijima, who has Mochi curled up in his arms, refrains from clapping.

“Excuse you, this was supposed to be a private moment,” Kuroo tells them half-heartedly and the others boo. When did his life turn into a sitcom?

“It stopped being private the second you started having it on my door,” Bokuto informs him, to the delight of the rest of the demon pack, and Daichi has to pull out his captain voice to get everyone under control again.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he says, ushering them back to the living room. “Yes, Kuroo and I are now dating; yes, we’re very happy; and yes, I don’t want to hear a word out of any of you about it for the next 24 hours. You owe us that much.”

“Hey, if anything, _you_ owe _us_ ,” Oikawa says indignantly, and Daichi laughs in his face.

“Right. Anyway, my cat, my boyfriend and I are going to be over there,” he says, pointing at the lumpy couch he and Iwaizumi rescued from the street, “if you need us. Otherwise, you people can figure yourselves out.” As if she understands, Mochi wiggles out of Ushijima’s hold and follows Daichi.

Kuroo shrugs at the rubberneckers as he joins the two on the couch. With some good-natured grumbling, they disperse to do whatever it is they do when they’re not making Kuroo’s life difficult. 

“Is this okay?” Daichi asks, glancing up at Kuroo when he sits. They’re too close, like usual, but now Kuroo can stop pretending like it doesn’t mean anything. Reruns of an old game show are playing on the television and in the kitchen someone’s arguing about hard vs. soft tofu, and they’re sitting here not doing much at all. Besides Mochi stretching across Daichi’s lap to nudge at Kuroo’s knee, and the way Daichi allows his hand to brush against Kuroo’s, nothing is different. And yet, it’s enough.

“Yeah, this is perfect,” he replies, and Daichi’s content smile seals the deal.

As they settle in to see if the game show contestant will win the grand prize, Daichi leans his head against Kuroo’s shoulder, and Mochi flips around, making it clear that she wants Kuroo to pet her. He rubs gently below her chin and she purrs happily under his touch. Hm. Maybe she’s not so bad after all.


	3. haunted house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I know about school festival haunted houses I learned from manga and Nobuta wo Produce, so let me know if anything is super off! Also, this story is really more about Karasuno being dumb than anything else.

It’s really Suga’s fault, though he’ll deny it to the death. He claims that Kinoshita’s to blame, for bringing them there in the first place when half the team wanted to go to the maid cafe, but Suga’s the one who shoved them all in past the entrance, even when Hinata tried to run away. So Daichi feels that everything that comes to pass - the chills, the thrills, everything that goes downhill - could be comfortably attributed to Suga’s abhorrent life choices.

Nekoma’s cultural festival is as lavish and boisterous as Daichi expected for a Tokyo school, and in the crowds the team becomes easily separated. He’s half-terrified he’ll lose one of the underclassmen and never see them again until they resurface at nationals, suddenly conscripted into Nekoma’s volleyball team. Fortunately, they decided early on to meet on the third floor at 12pm, to try and do something all together before the festival ends, which is why they wind up outside class 3-5’s haunted house squabbling over where to go next.

“There’s a haunted house right here,” Kinoshita notices, pointing across the busy hallway at the darkened doorway covered in thick maroon curtains. “If we’re not all hungry yet.”

“Um, we could go watch the show on the front lawn? I think it starts in fifteen minutes,” Asahi suggests.

“But _maid cafe_ , Asahi-san,” Tanaka stresses, doing something with his arms that makes it impossible to stand next to him. “Right?!” he asks the first years, who all give him responses of varying indifference. The conversation cycles through again, everyone throwing ideas in a frenzy without listening to each other. Eventually Suga clears his throat, pushing apart Tsukishima and Tanaka, who are sassing each other about something or other.

“No maid cafe at this moment,” he decides for them. “Wouldn’t it be much more enjoyable and refreshing _after_ we go through some heart-stopping trials together? I think it would.” And he begins herding them toward the haunted house.

“Wait, wait, Suga-san, i-is it going to be really scary? I dunno if my stomach can handle it…” Hinata says nervously.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine! Your senpai will protect you. And you guys can hold hands if you’re scared,” Suga says, sounding kind even though he keeps pushing them all forward. Hinata sticks his hands out; Yachi takes hold of one and Kageyama the other one reluctantly. Tsukishima starts snickering at them until Yamaguchi and Yachi grab him too, and they form a massive first-year wall.

“Uh, well, I guess we’ll start here and go to the cafe afterwards,” Daichi says. “You don’t mind missing the show do you, Asahi?”

“N-no, it’s fine, but uh.” Asahi grabs hold of the back of Daichi’s collar. “Sorry if I strangle you.”

“Try not to,” Daichi says dryly. “Anyway, how frightening could it really be?”

“Now you’re just asking for it, Daichi,” Asahi tuts.

They crowd into the entrance of the classroom, where a girl dressed in a black robe greets them. “Welcome, to the fabled haunted castle of Nekoma! Please follow the marked path and enjoy your trip through the five levels of terror!” She cackles at the end of her speech before trailing off in embarrassment. Kiyoko smiles reassuringly at her as they pass, and the girl gulps, letting them in past the entryway.

It’s pitch dark inside except for some glow in the dark bats and cauldrons lining their path, which has been laid out in a maze of hanging curtains for them. Noya and Suga link arms, while Tanaka leads the vanguard of second years. Daichi follows with Asahi and Kiyoko, and the first years bring up the back. In retrospect, that was probably a mistake.

Slowly, they advance into the first chamber. In the middle of the area is a round table covered in a dark tablecloth with several chairs surrounding it. Two chairs are occupied by skeletons, two more by cloaked Nekoma students, and one more remains empty. On the table is a whiteboard with the words “complete the circle, and you may leave” written in red marker. There’s no clear exit in sight.

“Right, so who wants to sit?” Narita asks. The Nekoma students remain silently frozen in place.

“I’ll do it! Watch how a true man faces fear, Kiyoko-san!” Tanaka declares, throwing himself into the empty seat. Daichi thinks he sees one of the students flinch from the noise, but other than that, they don’t move. The rest of Karasuno crowds closer to the table, waiting to see what will happen.

The students remain motionless, but both skeleton’s skulls slowly turn to face them, eliciting a yelp from most of the team, made worse when Tanaka suddenly bellows, kicking one leg and trying to jump out of his chair.

“There’s someone under there!” he yells, falling backwards into Ennoshita, who catches him under the arms. Sure enough, Daichi sees a hand retreat back under the tablecloth as a partition opens in the curtains to their left.

“O-okay, well, that wasn’t too bad, right? Let’s just keep going!” Suga says cheerfully, beckoning for them all to follow him to the next chamber. He immediately squawks upon colliding with a piece of hanging konnyaku jelly that sticks to his face with a splat.

“We’d better duck,” Daichi warns the others as he peels the jelly from Suga’s eyes before he can scratch himself like a feral raccoon. “There’s a lot of them.”

He thinks it’s really more annoying than scary, but that’s before he notices the faces peering at them from holes at the bottom of the curtains that dash away as soon as they’re seen. Creepy. From the sudden dual grasps of the hem of his shirt, he assumes both Asahi and Kiyoko have noticed as well.

“Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh,” falls like an incantation from Yachi’s lips as the first years hustle on behind him, and Tsukishima grunts in agreement. Just when it looks like Noya’s going to make it around the turn to the next room, a giant spider drops from the ceiling and consumes him; they tumble to the ground together.

“They got Noya-san,” Kageyama hisses just as another one takes out Kinoshita. Yachi and Hinata start screaming.

“Keep moving!” Daichi instructs them as many smaller plastic spiders rain down on them from above in the final stretch. Whoever’s throwing them has a great arm.

The second years pick up their fallen and drag them coarsely over the threshold and the rest of the team follows unhappily behind. The next room narrows into a cardboard tunnel, so they have to crawl through and try to ignore the creaking noises and whispers coming from the other end. Daichi notices about a third of the way through that there must be feathers or twigs poking down from the top because he periodically feels something tickling at the back of his neck, but he does his best to ignore it even as Asahi starts making frothing sounds right behind him.

Something must start giving chase to the first years, because the shrieking begins again, this time with Yamaguchi’s voice mixed in too, and they come flying out of tunnel barely after Kiyoko gets out, running straight past Daichi. The person chasing them - a vampire, from the looks of it - hasn’t given up yet, and comes gliding toward Daichi, who gets bowled out of the way as Asahi grabs Kiyoko’s hand and books it past him.

“Seriously?!” Daichi yells after them as he picks himself off the floor.

“Soooorrrryyyy Daichiiiiiii,” come the faint echoes of Asahi’s voice.

“Sorry man,” the vampire says, looking at Daichi with pity. “Why don’t you go on ahead.” He bows and holds out an arm, letting Daichi advance without further trouble.

“Thanks,” Daichi says, already worn-out.

He stomps on after them, brushing away ghouls on strings and a witch puppet that bounces around through a small graveyard scene, until he finally catches up with them huddling near the exit, apparently trying to solve a riddle to escape.

“Oh, captain! You survived!” Yachi clutches at her chest, looking relieved.

“No thanks to this team’s loyalty,” he says pointedly, watching the way everyone tries to avoid his eyes.

“That's because we were sure you'd make it out, Daichi,” Suga says. Hinata is hiding behind his back. “You’re scarier than anything in here.”

“Definitely what I wanted to hear today, Suga, thank you.”

He comes up behind Ennoshita to take a look at the clues left behind for them. It seems like they have to find three keys in this final room before they’re allowed out. Daichi decides to help Narita and Tsukishima search through the assortment of medical supplies laid out in haphazard mess over seemingly blood-stained sheets. He’s reaching across the table to check under a pair of forceps when a voice moans “Bewaaaare,” and a white form comes from out of nowhere to mob him.

Something about the combination of that voice and the position the ghost comes from, swooping up from below, triggers an instinct in Daichi that he wasn’t aware of, and before he knows it, his fist flies out to punch the ghost right in the gut before it can reach him.

He withdraws immediately, guilt instantly taking effect, but it’s too late. The damage has been done.

“Ooof,” the ghost says sadly as it collapses next to the table.

“Oh my god, you killed the ghost, Daichi-san!” Noya yells, jumping up into Tanaka’s arms.

“Oh my god, I killed the ghost,” Daichi echoes, horrified by the lumpy form now folded in half on the ground.

“I-is he okay?” Suga crouches down to check on the poor ghost, but a demon comes slinking out from under the curtains, shocking him into falling onto his bottom and scooching back to the group for protection. Kageyama drops Yamaguchi’s hand and the fake bear trap he’s clutching and puts up his fists, clearly ready to box them a way to freedom and clearly not at all equipped to fight, from the way he’s shaking. Noya, noticing his underclassman’s bravery, sniffs proudly and leaps off Tanaka to stand guard in front of Asahi and Kiyoko. The rest just glance around in paranoid confusion, trying to figure out the source of the next attack.

“Uh, I think you guys can just go,” says a voice from outside the curtain, and a female student opens up a hole for them to leave from before they can cause any more problems. They file out, shame-faced, but Daichi remains behind to check on the ghost he just downed.

“I’m so, so sorry, I just reacted without thinking,” he babbles, helping the ghost untangle himself from the props on the floor. “Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

“God, Sawamura, who knew you had such a solid punch,” and Daichi knows that voice. And he knows that ridiculous hair.

“Kuroo? Holy shit, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Kuroo, dressed in all white, pulls himself up into sitting position, still looking kind of winded. Daichi leaves a hand at his back to help steady him. “I’m putting you on the banned list. No more festival fun for you.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” Daichi says with a shrug, and Kuroo gives him a crooked grin.

“Really though, you cause trouble everywhere you go, don’t you? Good thing there aren’t any vice-principals around today for you to maim.”

“Okay! You’re apparently all recovered, so I’m just going to leave now,” Daichi drops his hand from Kuroo’s side, and the other boy frowns.

“Hold up, you said you were going to make this up to me! Poor me, so injured.”

Daichi raises an eyebrow, unconvinced by the sudden wheezing Kuroo is affecting again. “Don’t you have some more innocents to spook?”

“Nope, it’s basically time for me to take my break anyway. I’ve been doing this all morning. Give me a sec, okay?” He slips away behind a curtain and Daichi decides to wait for him outside.

Of course, his traitorous, deeply-unreliable team has already ditched him, probably in favor of the maid cafe. He’s going to have to have some stern words with them about loyalty and trustworthiness later.

A minute later, Kuroo hurries over, still dressed like a spirit. He’s even wearing the little triangular headband that stands out amidst his mass of unruly hair. It’s almost cute.

“So, anything you guys wanted to see? I heard the quiz show 1-4’s putting on is supposed to be good.”

“There isn’t really a ‘you guys’ anymore; I’ve been abandoned.” Daichi gestures at himself standing alone in his black jacket with no other crows in sight anywhere in this hallway.

Kuroo laughs his awful, endearing cackle and slaps Daichi on the back. “Well, forgive them this once. C’mon, I’ll show you around; we can go make fun of Kenma’s crepe stand. I’ll even buy you one.”

“What, no, I’m treating,” Daichi argues as they head down the hallway. “I did just slug you in stomach. It’s the least I could do.”

“Please, that was barely a tap. I didn’t feel a thing.”

“You went down like a collapsed mine. I almost knocked you out.”

“As if. It was just a feint. I got you good, didn’t I?”

“Quit posturing and let me buy you a stupid crepe, Kuroo.”

“Only if you let me treat you to bubble tea afterwards. Or would you rather go to the maid cafe? That seems like a Karasuno kind of activity.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Daichi asks.

“Nothing!” Kuroo puts his hands up innocently. “Just thought you might want to collect your stray team before they burn the school down.”

Daichi thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, you know what, I’ll leave it to the fire brigade. I deserve a break. I’m going to eat Kozume’s crepes and drink a bubble tea and hang out with a cute ghost. Let’s go.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit, Sawamura!” Kuroo says brightly as they descend the stairs. “After lunch we can go see the- wait, wait a moment.” His face falls slack. “What was that about a cute ghost?”

“Maybe you’ll find out soon,” Daichi says, hiding his smile by power walking on ahead. “Come on, do you want strawberry and cream or banana and chocolate?”

“Wait, seriously, Sawamura, tell me again!”


	4. forbidden fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the lovely [kakkoweeb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kakkoweeb/pseuds/kakkoweeb) who, uh, I hope likes delinquent AUs? Some mentioned violence in this chapter - mostly just teenagers punching each other for fun, but heads up for everyone. Also, a weirdly abrupt ending, sorry!! Let me know if you have questions/concerns!!

He punches like a freight train, and Kuroo thinks he might be in love.

“Who _is_ that?” Kuroo asks Yaku, still standing agape as the newcomer drops Seijou’s Yahaba with one hit, letting him tumble over the already defeated Kyoutani and Kindaichi. They’d snuck over to this neighborhood to spy on Aobajousai and Shiratorizawa, but they never expected to witness a fight against an unknown.

“Black and orange...he might be from Karasuno,” Yaku muses. “The crows have been quiet for a long time, but they used to control half the turf on the east side of town.” In the glory days, Kuroo understands this to mean, back when Nekoma was also a name that instilled fear in the heart of the other north side gangs. They lean against the edge of the roof wall, watching as the possible crow finishes demolishing the group barehanded. Kuroo likes the way he moves: focused on defense but ready with a series of brutally effective hits that his opponents can’t block. He could probably keep Kuroo on his toes while trying to find a counterattack that works.

He says something to the young Seijou kid who’s left to drag his injured members back home before stalking out of the parking lot, slipping away into the alleys. Before he leaves their sight, Kuroo catches sight of another delinquent in black and orange, this one tall and menacing.

“So Karasuno’s still around,” Kuroo says, considering how this changes things. Nekoma already has a fair number of enemies without an old rival crawling back out of the woodwork - perhaps it would be better to start anew with the crows than to make another enemy. It'll be hard enough taking down Itachiyama alone; adding another gang into the fray could go either way for Nekoma depending on how they play this.

“Yeah, but before you even think about scheming we need to discuss this with the others.” Yaku tugs Kuroo away from the roof edge and Kuroo’s gaze lingers a moment longer on the alleyways below, trying to catch one last glimpse of his mystery boy in black, but he's out of luck.

\--

Nekoma’s game plan is to suss out potential allies on the east side that would be willing to side with them against Itachiyama. Unfortunately, given the state of things, no one short of Shiratorizawa would currently be strong enough, and they already know the eagles won't disrupt their stronghold of power for an uncertain alliance against a powerhouse gang. What they would need is either a coalition of smaller gangs, or for someone to finally put Shiratorizawa in their place and rise to the top in their stead.

Both options seem extremely unlikely, which is why Nekoma is quietly paying their visits instead of coming out swinging at anyone. The east is more wild than the north, but Kenma hopes they're still partial to negotiations over brute force.

As expected, most gangs hear them out, but turn them down, even when Nekoma offers their support against Shiratorizawa. Even Aobajousai’s long-term grudge isn't enough to overcome their pride; Oikawa refuses on the grounds that they’ll beat their rivals on their own terms or not at all. 

Kuroo thanks him and heads over to Datekou next, but Moniwa declines as well.

“Sorry, but the Iron Wall is more interested in securing our own territory before trying to topple a powerhouse.” It makes sense; Datekou has their base in a very well defended part of town, and they don't want to risk losing it over nothing.

“That's fair. Thanks for your time.”

“You know,” Moniwa’s sly-faced junior says as Kuroo makes to leave. “If you're looking for someone crazy enough to go head-to-head with Shiratorizawa, you'd have the most luck with the crows.”

“Futakuchi! Don't try to get them tangled up in this!”

“Why not?” Futakuchi asks. “Everyone knows it's only a matter of time before Karasuno goes after them. Nekoma might as well try and profit off it.”

“You think so?” Kuroo stops in his tracks. He wants to hear this. “They're really that strong?”

“Yes,” the silent giant next to Futakuchi says, with an odd kind of pride in his voice.

“It's worse than that,” Futakuchi scoffs. “It's not even that they're really strong, it's that they _just won't go down_ , even when they should. Karasuno does whatever it takes, like it's do or die. But they never die!”

It’s an intriguing bit of information, but Kuroo doesn’t know enough about Karasuno yet to call them out for a parley, so first he decides to do some off the record research. No need to drag the others in before he even knows if it’s a viable option.

\--

Datekou tells him that they know at least a few streets where Karasuno hangs around, and from there, he pinpoints a little shop named Sakanoshita that he sees boys in black and orange passing in and out of. When Yamamoto and Kai are out doing another recon job on Itachiyama one day, Kuroo takes his chance to scope out the store for any Karasuno members.

He enters the shop in his school uniform, waving to the proprietor and heading over to the snack section to pick up some shrimp chips for Fukunaga while he waits. There’s more of a selection than he expected, and by the time he’s chosen a bag, someone else has entered the store.

“Get the hell out of my shop, you punks,” yells the man at the counter, and instinctively, Kuroo stiffens, before remembering that no one here could possibly know he’s a delinquent. He relaxes again, deciding to shift toward the magazine rack instead, to get a better view of what’s going on. 

“Ukai-san, it’s just me,” calls an amused voice. “I’m a paying customer.”

Kuroo peeks around the corner, but only sees a flash of black before the other boy disappears around the aisle.

“Oh, good, do me a favor and watch the counter for me,” Kuroo hears the owner say. “I’ve gotta unload the new order from the back. I’ll give you your buns on the house today.”

“It would probably be more cost-effective if you just paid me in cash. You know how many meat buns they can eat.”

“Yeah, well, when you finally graduate send me your resume and we’ll see.”

There’s the sound of a door closing and Kuroo thinks this is as good a chance as any. He grabs a copy of some random manga publication that he’ll give to Lev later, along with a bottle of milk tea and strolls up to the counter. The teenager sitting at the counter has a math textbook open, but he glances up and smiles as Kuroo approaches. Kuroo, in turn, freezes mid-step when he realizes that the boy in front of him is the same boy from that first time - the one single-handedly whooping half of Seijou’s ranks.

There’s a split second during which the boy’s smile flickers as Kuroo gets his legs working again. In that moment, Kuroo feels himself being analyzed, and by the time he places his goods on the counter, the Karasuno boy has straightened, stepping back with one foot.

“What do you want?” he demands, hands held loosely at his sides, ready to raise up for a block if needed.

Kuroo blanches, but continues to play ignorant, hoping it'll buy him some time. He didn't think he'd be coming face to face with the person who's been haunting his memories since he first saw him fight.

“Uh, just these three things,” he says, looking down at his items, but the boy just scowls.

“Look, I know you’re not here for the stellar snack selection-”

“It's actually pretty good.”

“-so just drop the act and tell me why you're wandering through Karasuno territory.”

“Who says it’s an act?” Kuroo asks, playing somewhere between serious and flirty, to see where that gets him, but the crow just glares and rolls up the sleeves of his gakuran. He must have just come back from school, but what Kuroo notices more than anything is that he’s got nice arms.

“There aren't any schools around here that wear your uniform,” the boy says, gesturing at Kuroo’s blazer and vest. “Who would come all this way for convenience store shrimp chips? Besides, don't you think we've noticed by now that the same chicken-haired punk has been parleying with all our rival gangs in the past week? C’mon, try to be a little more secretive.”

“Ah.” The hair, Kuroo always forgets that the hair’s a dead giveaway, no matter how stealthily he moves.

“If you wanted to pick a fight, there are easier ways of doing it.” He lifts his chin, staring Kuroo down defiantly, and Kuroo feels the hot rush of blood to his head that always precedes a good fight. His hands tingle, and by years of having it drilled into him, his eyes dart toward each visible corner of the room, sizing up exits and possible blind spots. But no, he’s not here to get in with it against Karasuno, so he steps back, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I don't! I just want to talk, I swear,” he insists. “I’m the only one here; no tricks, no ambushes.”

“Yeah? Then talk.”

Kuroo’s about to launch into his spiel, then remembers that he never actually okayed this plan with anyone else. At this point, basically every east side gang knows that Nekoma’s gunning to take down Itachiyama, but still, it’s the principle of the matter. No one in Nekoma makes a decision about the gang without discussing with all the other members first, not even the banchou. Running recon on his own is one thing, but discussing an alliance without passing it by the others first? No can do.

The boy must sense Kuroo’s hesitation to say anything, because he plants his hands on the counter and leans forward. There’s a sudden pressure that encompasses them, and Kuroo knows without a doubt that his chance has slipped away; one wrong move here and he’s got a fight on his hands.

But even east side delinquents go for words before fists, so the boy gives him the brightest non-smile Kuroo’s ever seen - good enough to rival his own - and says crisply, “Right, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but clearly you’re not here to talk. Get the hell out of this shop, and stay away from my crows.”

His crows. Kuroo gets the feeling that this guy isn’t just your typical enforcer, despite that body type and the display he witnessed three weeks ago. He might very well have picked the exact wrong yankee to stumble into today.

But there’s nothing that gets Kuroo more excited than a worthy opponent, especially one that he can rile up. They stare each other down for another long moment, sizing up what the other person might do; from the way the boy glances at the cash register for the briefest second, Kuroo knows he must be trying to calculate the odds of Kuroo being after more than just a run-of-the-mill fight. He must actually care about the shop, and it's a quality Kuroo can respect. Some punks don't take any pride in their territory, and it's a damn shame.

Some part of him - the young, untamed kid he used to be, who’d rather scrap in an alleyway than use his brain to figure out his opponents - wants to push until the other boy snaps. The north has been stagnant for a long time, and Kuroo has been itching for a good, solid fight against someone new. 

But he tries to never start trouble in close quarters even if Nekoma’s fighting style is conducive to being indoors, because he doesn't like destroying property, but the boy doesn't know this, so before the silence drags on too long he turns on his own mega-watt smile and slowly backs away.

“I’ll be coming back for those shrimp chips,” he says cheerfully. “And that copy of HanaYume.”

“Please don’t.”

“Count on it, little birdie,” he says with a wink as he backs out the door. The look of sheer irritation on the boy’s face is the most perfect thing Kuroo’s seen all week.

\--

Of course Kuroo can't very well go and leave him alone now that the challenge is out there, but neither does he want to get his lights punched out, so he sticks to the rooftops and restaurant fronts while spying incognito, this time with a baseball cap jammed onto his head. These are at least officially-sanctioned Nekoma stakeouts, though everyone else is too busy to tag along so there's still an illicit feeling to it all.

He starts to recognize some of the Karasuno kids, and from what he can tell, they're not a huge gang. There's a trio that usually moves together, and one with a buzz cut and too much energy. Two tiny ones and a girl or two, which isn't typical. There's a vague hierarchy that he can make out: it seems like they all answer to a silver-haired yankee and the scary one Kuroo spotted in the alleyways before. But the clear-cut leader is his store clerk crow.

The others come to him often, and Kuroo can usually tell if he's chiding or encouraging them from the expression on his face. It's obvious they respect him a great deal, though sometimes Kuroo can hear him yelling at them as they get riled up about something. Kuroo starts to recognize his exasperated face, and it's kind of endearing.

It's one day when he's casually trying to catch a glimpse of Karasuno on a very long way back home from school that he almost gets caught. He's walking on the opposite side of the street when he notices a small group of them seemingly begging the Shimada Mart worker for sports drinks. His store clerk crow is laughing about something the tall blond one just said, and Kuroo lingers a moment too long on his face as he walks past. He finds himself fixated on the way the boy’s eyes narrow a little when he laughs, his eyebrows drawing down, leaving him looking paradoxically younger despite the slight creases that result.

Kuroo wonders what those eyes look like once the fists start flying - if that smile disappears or if it just grows sharper once bruises start blooming across his skin. He’s never seen any fight up close enough to tell. Is he stronger than Kuroo? Faster? With those arms, he could probably pin Kuroo pretty easily, but with the height advantage, Kuroo might be able to turn the tables on him. He’s more of a defensive fighter, steadily taking hits that would send a weaker opponent reeling. His moves aren’t hard to read, but he doesn’t get taken by surprise much either.

Would it surprise him if Kuroo asked for a kiss?

The crow’s gaze catches on him as he passes, their eyes meeting for a flash of a second, and Kuroo hurries along, turning the corner quickly before anyone starts getting the notion that he looks familiar. Three blocks later, safe on Datekou streets, he finally lets his guard down and slumps against the wall. He might be a little too interested for his own good. It’s sure to spell out trouble for the future.

But, this one time, he doesn’t want to let that stop him.

“Who are you, little birdie?” he mutters to himself as he heads back north to see Kenma before the semi-monthly joint meeting with Fukurodani. They say curiosity killed the cat, but he’s pretty sure that the satisfaction of understanding his mystery boy will most certainly bring him back.

\--

No matter who Kuroo chats up, he gets the same vague answers.

“You gotta watch out for the weirdo duo, of course, but I think their banchou’s the real dangerous one, even if he doesn’t look like it,” Johzenji’s Terushima tells Kuroo after their impromptu friendly fist fight ends with a bruise across the kid’s face and sore ribs for Kuroo. 

“Everyone knows that Karasuno’s a wild card,” Wakunan’s Nakashima says, when they meet on neutral territory. “I mean, my gang’s no walk in the park, but I’d never want to be in charge of those oddballs. Still, there’s not a single crow that doesn’t respect their leader. There’s something about him that makes you want to listen.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t if I were you,” Oikawa laughs, when Kuroo asks what he thinks about the head of Karasuno. “Sawamura-kun deals with worse than you on a daily basis, myself included. Don’t think you can try him without losing more than you’re willing to.”

Sawamura. So that’s his name.

“I never said I wanted to take him on,” Kuroo counters, and Oikawa laughs even louder than before.

“If you’re not here to fight, then you’re here for something else, and I can tell you that’s an even tougher battle to overcome.” He smirks, leaning back against the wall that his lieutenants are sitting on; Iwaiuzumi snorts, and the other two share a knowing look between themselves. “So you’re interested in Sawamura-kun, eh? It's a pity the crows will never let you close enough to him for you to have a chance.”

“I’m just looking for an alliance here,” Kuroo says.

“Is that what they call it these days,” mutters Iwaizumi.

“Then you would’ve already reached out to them, and we wouldn’t be standing here. No, you want to know about their handsome banchou with the pretty smile and the killer thighs,” Oikawa mocks, and Kuroo sends a silent thanks to Daishou for being so fucking annoying that he’s built a tolerance against these bad personalities.

“Really just trying to get advice about meeting with Karasuno without pissing them off again.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, except that you’re going to have a bad time.”

“I think you're underestimating Nekoma’s strength,” Kuroo says breezily. And his own tenacity, he doesn't say, because he doesn't want to give Seijou the satisfaction of knowing they figured his motives out.

“And I think _you_ don't really know what you're in for,” Hanamaki says coolly, looking at his nails.

“Even Shiratorizawa thinks they’re monsters, for what that’s worth,” adds Matsukawa.

“When Karasuno hits their limits, they don't break,” Iwaizumi warns, leveling his patented stern look at Kuroo. “They come back at you more vicious than before. Don't fuck with them unless you're ready for the consequences.”

  


Despite everyone’s advice, Kuroo hasn't been dissuaded in the slightest from his fascination with Karasuno’s leader. He's still not really sure if he wants to make out with him or take him on in a one-on-one. But before his unfortunate obsession can get him his ass handed to him by over-protective crows, Nekoma decides to move forward with the plan to court Karasuno for an alliance.

“Well, even if they’re not the strongest, we could use some allies, and they seem interesting,” Kai says when Kuroo blinks at them in surprise when the vote is passed.

“Really? And we’d be willing to go up against Shiratorizawa with them?”

“Kuro, you haven’t been the only one researching,” Kenma says as he walks right past Kuroo to sit on the curb with Yaku and Lev to eat snacks.

Yaku nods. “While you were getting intel, some of us went to see Karasuno for ourselves.”

“They’re not your usual gang,” Kenma says as he chews through a banana. “They look like they might be, but they’re weird. Adaptable. It’s like they’re willing to change to whatever they need to in order to win. It’s almost scary.” But even he seems slightly interested, and that’s enough of a sign for Kuroo to know that they’ve gotta go through with this.

“Alright, then, if it’s decided, then it’s decided. Next Tuesday, Inuoka and Kenma will make contact and try to set up a meet,” Kuroo announces to the group. “Let’s make us an alliance, and take back our territory.” From the cheers he receives, he becomes more certain that this must be the right step forward for Nekoma, even if his original motives may not have been so pure.

\--

They agree to meet on Seijou ground, in a wide alleyway off a quiet street where no one should be bothering them, though Kuroo gets the feeling that Oikawa is watching from a hiding place somewhere, ready to laugh some more at his expense.

Karasuno is already waiting there by the time Nekoma arrives, though it appears that they have several members who have abstained from entering the alley - no doubt lurking somewhere nearby just like Fukunaga, Teshiro, and Lev in case things go south. Kuroo’s always the kind to lead in the forefront, so he steps forward with Kai, sizing up the delinquents closest to them. There’s the silver-haired one - Sawamura’s second, as far as Kuroo’s surmised - flanked by monk-cut, and a cranky looking brunet and the tiny orange crow on the other side. The other short member that Kuroo recognizes stands planted imposingly in front of the two female members who are situated near the back with a few other boys watching the other end of the alley.

And, of course, Kuroo’s favorite, strolling up with that lovely, irritated smile twisting his mouth. Kuroo grins back and steps forward to offer a handshake to Sawamura, his usual greeting to see how another gang’s banchou responds.

But before he can extend his hand, a low wail begins behind him, and he sighs, realizing what their mistake was.

“They have girls! Girls!!” Yamamoto screeches, falling to his knees. Shibayama laughs under his breath, and Inuoka takes the initiative to position himself between Yamamoto and the two boys who look ready to tackle him for even looking at their female members.

“Dammit, Yamamoto, if you’re going to do this, then go switch with Lev,” Kuroo turns and barks at him.

“Sorry, Kuroo-san. Uh, don’t mind me.” Yamamoto slaps his own cheeks and stands, wincing when he glances toward the girls again, but finally gets himself under control, shifting back to stand next to Kenma, who jabs him in the side.

Scratching at his bedhead, Kuroo turns back to Sawamura to apologize. “Sorry about that. We’re not weird, I swear.”

But Sawamura actually looks amused. “Don’t worry about it. I feel your pain.”

Kuroo looks over the rest of Karasuno again, and laughs. “I’d believe that.”

“What gave it away? My gray hairs? The general sense that they could drive anyone to an early grave?” Sawamura holds out a hand, which Kuroo accepts. They exchange a firm handshake.

“Daichi, that’s so rude,” the tall, bearded one says, and Sawamura’s lieutenant laughs brightly.

“Or is it a compliment? Don’t fight us, or we’ll annoy you to death and steal your turf!” he says, to which Sawamura grins.

“Yeah, that’s it, our master plan. So, you guys are looking for an alliance,” Sawamura says, getting down to business. But Kuroo hasn’t had his fill of fun yet.

“Well, first of all, it’s great to see you again, but where are my chips, Sawamura-san?” Kuroo asks, stressing the honorific. He beams at Sawamura, closely examining the way his shoulders stiffen just slightly when he hears his name.

Sawamura’s cheek twitches, before he plasters on his own fake smile. “Well, you never actually bought them, Kuroo-san, so I guess you’ll have to try again. Preferably at a different establishment.” Kuroo isn’t surprised that Sawamura already knows his name; of course any good leader would have done research on Nekoma before agreeing to meet.

“Please, just Kuroo is fine. Or, you can call me Tetsurou, if you prefer.”

“I don’t want to have a reason to call you anything at all.”

“Now, now, Sawamura-san, how can we ever have a healthy relationship if you’re going to be so aloof with me?” Maybe he’s laying it on too thick, because he hears Yaku sigh next to him.

Sawamura snorts and gestures at his gang. “I have great faith that the others know how to play nice.”

“Really,” Kuroo says dryly when one of Sawamura’s boys looks like he might actually start growling at him. “Didn’t you just tell me they were slowly killing you?”

“That’s a separate, completely unrelated issue. Karasuno treats our allies with nothing but respect.”

“So, you _would_ be willing to make it work between us.” Kuroo wiggles his eyebrows, and Sawamura’s mouth curls into a scowl, before he turns to Kai, all smiles again.

“An alliance with Nekoma, yes. On another completely unrelated tangent, has Nekoma ever considered a change in leadership?”

Kai laughs loudly as Kuroo pouts, and steps forward. “Please, just ignore Kuroo. You’ve probably already heard rumors, but I’ll just tell it to you straight. You want to take down Shiratorizawa, and we want to take down Itachiyama. I think it’d be in our best interests to help each other out, if Karasuno is willing.”

“We’re willing to hear out the plan,” Sawamura agrees, before looking past Nekoma out to the street beyond them. “If it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, we could move this discussion back to Karasuno grounds. We’re on good terms with Seijou, but I figure any plans should stay between us.” His expression becomes kind of wry as he returns his attention to Kai. “Oikawa Tooru already has more than enough blackmail on me.”

Kai looks to Kuroo for the okay, and he nods. “That would work for us. Show us the way.”

\--

The alliance is made over a dinner of meat buns and vending machine coffee, with both gangs clogging up the sidewalk in front of Sakanoshita, much to the owner’s annoyance. They agree to conquer Shiratorizawa first, with the hopes of strengthening Karasuno’s power, and perhaps to bring in new members, before tackling the much greater hurdle of Itachiyama’s overwhelming dominance in the north.

Now, they’re really just socializing, and gossiping about the other gangs they know. Kuroo is proudly watching Kenma chatting quietly away with Hinata when Sawamura sits on the curb next to him with a plastic bag clutched in his hand.

He drops it at Kuroo’s feet. Inside is a pack of shrimp chips, a bottle of milk tea, and the newest copy of HanaYume. Kuroo looks up in surprise, then smiles broadly when he notices the faint amusement on Sawamura’s face.

“Ukai-san didn't have any back copies of your magazine left, so you'll have to make do with this edition,” he tells Kuroo, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at him sideways.

“I'm sure Lev won't mind,” Kuroo replies, tossing the chips over to Fukunaga, who perks up at the sight of them. “Is this a peace offering?”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Aw, so you _do_ care about our relationship.”

Sawamura’s mouth presses flat like he’s trying hard not to make some sort of face. “I know we literally just became allies, but I get the weird feeling that you want me to punch you in the face.”

Kuroo takes a casual sip from his milk tea. “Ohoho, you can certainly try - but I’m not sure you can reach that high?”

“If you want to fight, you can call me out the old-fashioned way,” Sawamura laughs. “None of this provocation bullshit you use on everyone.” So Sawamura really has been studying up on him. Kuroo probably shouldn’t feel so flattered.

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” Sugawara says, wandering past them with a fistful of pocky. “You're Daichi’s mystery man, aren't you?” he asks, pointing his pocky at Kuroo. He looks abnormally delighted.

“Mystery man?” Kuroo parrots, looking between the two of them. 

“Suga, what the _hell_ ,” Sawamura grits out, but the rest of Karasuno has already been thrown into a frenzy.

“You’re telling me that Daichi-san’s stalker is also his mystery man?!” Tanaka snarls from next to the vending machine, looking about ready to tear off his shirt for whatever reason. Kuroo is about to defend himself, but there comes another yell.

“The lanky guy!” gasps Hinata, who gapes at Kuroo until Kageyama elbows him in the gut. “Ow, Stupidyama-kun, it really is him. Kuroo-san is the one that banchou was trying to avoid!”

Kuroo isn't surprised, but still, ouch.

“That was a _secret_ , dumbass Hinata!”

“Not to give the impression that I’m defending Hinata,” Tsukishima says, sounding bored, “but it probably would have come out eventually. Just like I’m sure they’d eventually find out that banchou has been asking everyone he knows for information about Kuroo-san.” Kuroo’s ego jumps back up at that.

Sawamura puts his face in his hands. “Well, Tsukishima, if you _come right out and tell them_ , yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ll find out.”

Tsukishima shrugs, but there’s a smug glimmer in his eye, and Kuroo decides he likes the skinny little bastard. Karasuno’s rivals probably hate the kid.

“Don't you think they'd be surprised when you just happen to already to know exactly how Kuroo-san fights? And where he hangs out? And his gang’s history?”

“I'm honestly surprised Futakuchi hasn't already spilled the beans about you visiting,” Suga says under his breath. 

“Or that Fukurodani banchou,” says Ennoshita. “He seemed really excited about it all. Now I'm starting to see why.”

Nekoma watches with open interest as just about every member of Karasuno chimes in with their (mostly incredulous and unhappy) opinions on Sawamura’s secret interest in the person who’s been spying on him. Even the elegant Shimizu turns to Sawamura and quietly comments, “I didn’t think... _that_ kind of guy was your type.”

“If it’s any comfort,” Yaku tells them, “Kuroo’s not as bad as he seems. Or, maybe he’s exactly as bad as he seems; I don’t know what your standards are.”

“Thanks for that exemplary endorsement, Yakkun. Really.” Kuroo turns to Sawamura who is still trying to ignore his gang’s squawks of outrage. For someone who can one-shot one of Datekou’s tanks, he's awfully cute when flustered. “I’m thinking maybe we should be having a conversation, just the two of us. How about it?” he offers quietly, with a small smile.

Sawamura peeks out from where his face was buried in his knees, but before he can respond, Nishinoya stalks over and stands in front of Kuroo with his hands on his hips.

“If you’re after Daichi-san, you’re going to have to go through us first,” he declares, followed by a whoop of agreement from a bunch of Sawamura’s juniors.

“Noya, I don’t need my kouhai to protect me,” Sawamura protests, but Noya continues glaring down at them.

“I dunno, when you’re not being scary, you’re too nice, Daichi-san. You’re vulnerable to this cat’s tricks. Just because we're all on the same side now doesn't mean he has good intentions toward you.”

“I'm not a soap opera villain,” Kuroo says, but he can feel the eyes of almost every single crow on him. Of course, no one in Nekoma sees fit to come to his aid; if anything, they look like they could use some popcorn to munch on while they wait to see how this plays out.

Luckily, some of Sawamura’s bunch are still semi-regular people. Azumane pipes up from the back, “I think Daichi knew exactly what he was getting into when he started snooping around, so, uh, m-maybe we could let him settle this himself?”

“Asahi-san! Don't you care if our banchou gets seduced by some fancy, metropolitan, north side punk?”

“There will be no seducing,” Sawamura says firmly.

“Not even a little bit?” Kuroo asks. He supposes he deserves it when three different voices start yelling at him at once. “Wow, Oikawa was right,” he mutters as they force some space between him and Sawamura.

“I hate it when that happens,” Sawamura agrees, and they share a quick look of commiseration before Tanaka shoves three people into place between the two of them.

  


Shortly afterward, they agree to part on good terms, the weird tension between their leaders notwithstanding. All the other interactions Kuroo has with Sawamura are watched with intense scrutiny by Karasuno, but seeing as Kuroo does know how to be serious, it's all business between them.

“Then, next week we'll start planning,” Sawamura says, and they shake hands again. Completely professional.

Karasuno watches them hawkishly as they take their leave (though they're probably just watching Kuroo that closely), so Kuroo holds off on provoking anyone until he's out of throwing range. Then he turns back and yells across the street while making a telephone gesture, “Call me, Sawamura!” 

“Oi!” screech a few crows at once, but Sawamura just laughs.

“I don't have your number, you loser,” he shouts back. 

“Then give me yours!”

“Only if you earn it!” Sawamura challenges, punching his palm, and Kuroo grins.

“You're on,” he calls, before Kenma and Kai drag him away. Kuroo’s still on the fence about what exactly he wants from Sawamura, but it looks like no matter what it is, he’s going to get it. Everyone was right; Karasuno really doesn’t disappoint.


	5. reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm regretfully fond of the "it's decades too late to still have a tiny unrequited thing for you, and yet here I am anyway" scenario, so here's a kurodai version!

Should it come as a surprise that even now, despite the hint of silver in his hair and the slightest give in the firm contour of his back, Daichi can catch Kuroo’s attention from all the way across the room?

Probably not. Kuroo is a realist, sure, but even he has had some beloved regrets he never let go of. It’s an old wound, his could-have-been feelings for Daichi, and it hurts the way a healed scar does: not at all, until the memories resurface. 

But it’s unkind to think of Daichi this way. After all, it’s not his fault Kuroo never learned to take his chances off the court. And Kuroo isn’t hung up on him; it’s not something so pitiful and romantic as that. He just...wishes he knew what they might have had.

 _Nothing_ , is what his brain helpfully tells him (in its Kenma voice). _You had your chances, over and over again, and you let them pass you by, over and over again._

He should go over and say something before he’s caught staring. Maybe rope Bokuto in, to lessen his own expectations that something could happen. Daichi’s noticeably unattached to any spouse-shaped person, and Kuroo, single as always, is already starting to get the butterflies of anticipation that it could mean something. Even among all the voices and the music filtering unobtrusively through the room, there’s a silent magnetism about him, standing modestly outside the coursing body of people mingling in the center of the floor. As if the very light itself is breaking in fractals around him, casting a quiet glow across his face.

Kuroo turns to grab a glass of wine from the caterer’s plate, a shining dose of liquid courage, or liquid constitution - whatever it takes to make it through a conversation with Daichi like a normal person without getting his hopes up like an idiot - but before he can take a sip, he notices that across the way, Daichi has turned toward him. Their eyes meet, and Daichi’s slowly blooming smile ignites that terrible ache in his chest he thought he would be too old to still experience.

Ah, Kuroo might just be totally screwed.

His feet carry him heedlessly forward, but he does have the foresight to swallow down most of his glass before arriving in front of Daichi, who stands with his coat folded over his arm, cutting a dashing figure in his charcoal suit. He has a brief moment to wonder how many other Karasuno alums are at this reunion before Daichi is reaching out his arms, and okay, Kuroo can handle a hug, that’s fine.

Daichi is as solid as he remembers, but it isn’t until they separate that Kuroo really starts to suffer.

“Kuroo,” Daichi says, with the warmth of someone who doesn’t understand just what his smile does to a heart as weak as Kuroo’s is.

“Sawamura,” Kuroo replies, and he smiles back because he’s a damn fool.

“Back to ‘Sawamura,’ are we? I mean, I know we haven’t been in touch recently, but I didn’t realize we’d drifted so far apart,” Daichi teases, and it doesn’t matter that it’s been well over a year since they last spoke, because the rhythm of their banter returns to him like instinct.

“Well, you know how it is. I can only call so many people by their given names, and you just didn't make the cut this year. Better luck next time.”

“Ouch, lesson learned. What do I have to do to stay in the club? Tell me.”

“It’d help if you actually took Bokuto up on his offers for lunch once in awhile. You too busy for us now, _professor_?”

“I know, I know,” Daichi says with a touch of guilt in his voice. “The university’s had me running circles around myself, but I think I’ve finally got my schedule set. I promise I’ll come out with you guys next time.”

The worst part is that Kuroo isn't sure that proximity and exposure would actually lessen that whisper of yearning he's kept under wraps all these years. But his desire to see Daichi wins out over his desire not to feel like a schoolboy unsure about his first real crush, so he sucks it up and continues their back-and-forth.

“You better. So, where’s the rest of your pack?”

“Probably hovering outside the kitchen doors so they can mob the waitstaff for appetizers. But I’m not responsible for them anymore.”

“No? I don’t buy it,” Kuroo teases. “Like you could really resist. The secondhand embarrassment would kill you.”

“I’m serious! The way I figure, if they’re married, I’ve washed my hands of them. No longer my problem.” But his eyes are warm the way they always are when he talks about his old teammates, and Kuroo nudges him gently with an arm.

“What about you?” he asks, trying and failing to be surreptitious, noting the lack of ring on Daichi’s finger. “Weren’t you dating someone? The, uh, the one who worked at the trading firm-”

“Oh, yeah, that...didn’t work out. We broke up last year.”

Kuroo winces. That had been far from smooth on his part. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

Daichi shrugs, but he looks mostly over it. Even so, he slips the glass from Kuroo’s hand and finishes the rest of his wine in one gulp. “It’s okay; we had a friendly split. Just at different points in our lives, you know? So I’m back to the bachelor lifestyle.” 

“Oh, c’mon, even in college you were too put together to live like a bachelor.”

“I guess so,” Daichi admits. He eyes Kuroo sideways, pointing his stolen wine glass like a pen toward him. “What about you? I feel like in all the years since we graduated, you’ve never brought anyone to one of these things.”

With a self-deprecating laugh, Kuroo knocks his head back against the wall. It's his own fault for opening the conversation to this topic. “Well. You know me. Married to the job! That’s enough for me.” He gives it the old jazz hands to spice his explanation up, but Daichi just studies him intensely with a slight frown, his signature concern written clearly in his expression.

“If you’re happy, I guess that’s fine. But if not- you should put yourself out there. Lots of people are career-oriented. It shouldn’t be a deal-breaker.”

It’s not that he’s never loved or been loved, but at the end of the day, he’d always chosen the job over everything else. Maybe one day he’ll look back on those choices as mistakes, but he really does think his job is his calling, and if prioritizing patients comes at the expense of his personal life, then what can he do? “Nah, it never works out. The hospital’s clingier than a jealous ex; no one wants to put up with that.”

Daichi slaps his hand lightly against Kuroo’s shoulder, and the impact reverberates through Kuroo like a defibrillator, sending one burning current straight to his heart. God, he didn't think he was so far gone, but his memory must have gone hazy during their time apart. He's too damn old to be feeling this light-headed over someone still.

“I'm serious, Kuroo; I don't think it's as much of an obstacle as you think it is. Don’t gloat about this, but...you’re a real catch. There's tons of people out there who’d be happy to be with you.” And Daichi does sound serious, but perhaps that's the most heartbreaking part of it all.

 _Are you one of them_ , Kuroo doesn't have the nerve to say, because at this point, it's too late to ask questions like that when he doesn't even have the excuse of youthful daring on his side. So he slips into a slouch and a smile, saying noncommittally, “Maybe I’ll give it another try. When I have some free time. Which is never.”

Daichi’s laugh is just as Kuroo remembered it, and the feeling of dizzy elation it brings him is the same as always. “And I thought I was the busy one. C’mon, you sad single. Let me get you a drink.” 

He takes another wine glass from the next waiter who passes, and presents it to Kuroo. “You cheapass,” Kuroo says, shaking his head, but he takes the drink anyway.

“I can’t duck out to a bar before seeing everybody, and we’ve already paid here, so we might as well get our money’s worth.” He snags a morsel from another passing waitress - some kind of shrimp pastry thing - and hands it to Kuroo as well. Kuroo accepts it passively, popping it into his mouth as Daichi leads them through the crowd, probably in search of the rest of the Tokyo bunch. “But like I said, now that things have died down, I’m available again. Let me know when you're free - drinks’ll be on me.”

“I guess if it’s for you, I could find time in my schedule.”

“So Mr. Busy Pharmacist isn't too busy for me, huh?” There’s something about the way he says it, paired with that sneaky grin that makes Kuroo’s heart skip a beat.

“Well, if I can’t make time for an old friend, who _can_ I make time for?” Kuroo says, trying to recoup without getting caught up in Daichi’s tempo. It's so Karasuno of him to spring a sudden taunt like that.

“A date, Kuroo. Go out with someone as single as yourself.” His grin softens, and he rests a hand at Kuroo’s elbow, leading Kuroo onward toward where Kenma is hidden next to a potted plant and talking to Yaku.

 _Don't smile at me like that_ , Kuroo wants to plead. _Not while you're saying those words_. 

He gives a tiny shrug, trying to wind down the conversation before they reach Yaku and the needling becomes even worse. “We’ll see. I haven’t been in the dating scene for so long that I barely even remember what to do. And I was never really into the whole picking up people at bars thing. Nor do I personally know any eligible people right now, so.”

“Oh, I'm sure you know _somebody_ ,” Daichi says lightly, and Kuroo’s heart skips again, but then they’re standing in front of Kenma and Yaku, who’s already waving Bokuto over.

They’ve begun talking, but Kuroo only hears about half of what’s being said, the warmth of Daichi’s palm still pressed against his arm driving him slowly out of his mind. Kenma, of course, notices his vacant stupor, but just gives him a bland look of pity, and returns his attention to Bokuto’s story about his madcap cab ride. Azumane ambles over soon after, dragged along by Tanaka and his wife, and conversation turns to their jobs instead.

Kuroo is collected enough to make a relevant comment where needed, but he’s still floating through low orbit. He wonders how he’s ever going to make it through this reunion with his wits intact. His eyes meet Daichi’s briefly and he gets a flash of that grin again before Daichi withdraws his hand, the memory of his touch still haunting Kuroo’s skin. But he doesn’t move any farther away, and Kuroo is trapped in limbo.

Eventually, he eases up enough to act like a mostly functional person again, who isn’t having a mid-life crisis in between eating bites of sushi and canapes. The group decides to migrate toward the other Miyagi folk, and Kuroo somehow winds up at the back, strolling alongside Daichi.

“Kuroo, you’re already turning pink. Your tolerance has gotten worse than Kageyama’s.”

“Who, me? No, it’s just that the heat’s up a little too high,” Kuroo claims, loosening his collar. Daichi snorts, but doesn’t call his bluff, which is a relief, because Kuroo doesn’t think he can explain it’s not the alcohol that’s got him so warm. They’re still walking closer than they could be, but Kuroo won’t be the one to widen the distance.

He feels it like static in the air, the sensation that something’s going to change tonight. It’s twenty years too late to dust off those thin, long-buried hopes, but here they are, reaching out toward the sunlight again anyway.

Twenty years, and he still can’t help but wonder. And at this age, there’s no excuse not to brave anymore. Kuroo chances another look at Daichi, who gives him a slight smile. Just like sunlight.

If not now, then never, Kuroo decides.

“So, Daichi, about that drink...”


	6. role reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of a teamswap AU that I'll never have time to finish, haha. Originally posted to tumblr for kurodai week under the name "mirror, mirror". I wrote this in part because I love the idea of Kuroo calling Suga "Suga-chan" and also because the thought of Daichi & Kenma being childhood friends is fun!

“Oh, another round of flying falls? Well, it’s good to go back to basics once in a while, isn’t it, Karasuno-san?”

Kuroo doesn’t even respond to the taunt this time. He just marches forward grimly, leading his flock in the first of many dives to the floor today. They’d come _this_ close to defeating Shinzen, but yet again victory had eluded their grasp. He can feel all the disparate parts beginning to slot into place: Tsukki’s blocks, Hinata’s aim, Asahi’s serves...they’ve got all the right gears but it’s fitting them together that’s the issue. Soon, though. He can feel it like a premonition right under his skin.

While Karasuno does their lap around the gym, Kuroo can see Nekoma warming up on their side of the court in preparation for their upcoming practice match. Sawamura “no need to be so formal with me; we’re friends aren’t we, Mr. Penalty Magnet?” Daichi is observing them with some amusement as he stretches his legs. Kuroo would stick out his tongue as he passed by if it wouldn’t end with a mouth full of dust and wax. He settles for a menacing glare. It’s not effective. Sawamura just gives a smart little wave in Kuroo’s direction until he notices his setter, Hinata’s blond friend, is tapping away at his game again instead of practicing serves, and then he’s off to scold Kozume until the start of the match.

Karasuno is given a few minutes to get ready after their penalty, but Kuroo finds himself distracted by his opponent even before the game begins. His eyes keep catching on Sawamura as he dives for a receive. There’s something graceful about his motions, even if they’re simple and to the point. Kuroo hesitates to call it catlike, but there’s a measure of confidence in the way Sawamura plays that seems to say that he can and _will_ reach wherever he’s leaping to, regardless of height or speed. And that, he supposes, is kind of feline in the end after all.

He’s shocked out of his own thoughts by a stabbing sensation in his side. Suga’s infamous crab claw attack is back.

“Ow, Suga-chan, why are your pincers so strong?” Kuroo complains, but Suga doesn’t even spare him a laugh. There’s a look of deep suspicion etched into his face as he shoots glances between Kuroo and Nekoma.

“I don’t care how hot you find him,” Suga starts–

“–but please don’t start a fight with Nekoma’s captain, Tetsu,” Asahi finishes, coming out of nowhere to clamp his hand around Kuroo’s shoulder. “Just this once. Please.”

“No promises,” Kuroo says, already feeling his metaphorical feathers ruffling when Sawamura winks at him from across the net. That cat bastard.

  


This match also ends in a loss for Karasuno, and another round of flying falls later, Kuroo finds himself resting on the grass outside before they break for a short period of individual practice. He’s taking a swig from his water bottle when he notices some of the Nekoma members hanging out on the gym door steps. Sawamura is slightly bent over, leaning into Kozume’s space and frowning.

“What now?” Kozume asks, putting his hands up like shields in front of his cheeks, possibly as if to guard against someone squishing his face. “You’re doing the ‘I’m not mad but you should still be scared’ face.”

“There’s something off about you today. As if you’re out of sync and slowly recalibrating.” If it’s true, it sure didn’t show in their playing; Kozume was as difficult as ever today against Karasuno.

With a middling amount of effort, Kozume looks himself over, then shrugs. “Like I’m playing from a different save file?”

“I guess? You just seem different. Have you been staying up late again? You look sleep deprived,” Sawamura says suspiciously, and Kozume wrinkles his nose. 

“I look the same as always.”

“Which means you’re always sleep deprived. Or...are you waking up super early again?! Kenma, we talked about this! I promised auntie I wasn’t going to let you do that.”

“And I didn’t. I’m getting enough sleep, Daichi,” Kozume says through a yawn, which doesn’t really help his case. “I’m just really tired ‘cause Shouyou keeps making me practice with him after dinner.” He makes another face, this one a cross between wonder and annoyance. “He’s like a machine. A volleyball robot.”

At this, Sawamura relaxes a little, shifting back on his heels to smile at Kozume. “You’re telling me someone’s managed to actually trick you into training? Maybe that’s the change.”

Kozume kicks a pebble off the step in Sawamura’s direction. “I go to practice and you know it. Just because I don’t waste energy like Tora does doesn’t mean I don’t put in 100%.”

“Okay, sure, that tracks,” Sawamura laughs, “except we both know you only put in 80% during practice unless the situation calls for more. So give Hinata my thanks. You two should come to receivers’ training; your friend could use it.”

“Yeah, he still sucks at that. But I don’t want to practice with you, Daichi. I already hear enough of your yelling at home,” Kozume says before dodging out of Sawamura’s reach when he tries to commit what looks like a forehead chop to his face. With quick steps he escapes his captain and skulks off toward the rest of his team, giving Kuroo a wide berth as he passes.

“That one’s a handful, eh?” Kuroo calls over to Sawamura, who’s shaking his head fondly at his departing setter.

“Yeah, but at this point I’ve invested too much time and energy into him to back out now,” Sawamura says dryly as he trots over to join Kuroo on the grass. 

“I’d call it sunk cost fallacy if I didn’t know what an aggravatingly effective setter he is.”

“Well, he’s our control tower for a reason. How about you? Your team is, uh. I’m struggling to think of a word that doesn’t mean ‘a total circus.’ Sorry.”

“No, that’s accurate,” Kuroo sighs. “But we’re working on it. I know the results aren’t obvious yet, but we’re starting to pull it together.”

“You are,” Sawamura agrees, then cracks a grin. “And I hear your blocking practice is a big hit. Kou says he’s having the time of his life going up against you and your protégés. I’ve tried my best against him, but I just don’t have the height to put up a real challenge.”

Kuroo recalls the way Bokuto’s spikes nearly took his and his trainees’ arms off last night and lets out a breathy laugh. Even Tsukki couldn’t hold his poker face any longer, finally showing open signs of irritation when another ball came hurtling through their defense. “I mean, ‘challenge’ might be too generous for a name for how we’re faring against him, but I can’t say I have any complaints. It’s whipping my best blocker into shape. By the way, do you want Haiba back? He keeps sneaking into our gym, and I know for a fact he’s skipping out on something to be there.”

Sawamura groans and flops backward into the grass when he hears his teammate’s name. “So that’s where Lev keeps slipping off to. Yaku’s going to wring his neck, and then probably mine for letting him escape so many times.”

“Bad captaining,” Kuroo tuts.

“Oh, like you know where everyone in your weird flock is at all times,” Sawamura shoots back, and Kuroo smirks, flicking the excess drops of water from his bottle at him.

“Of course I do. They’re all lounging in the grass up the hill over there. Unless they’re Tanaka and then they’re doing ladder climbs in the gym with Fukurodani for some bizarre reason.”

Sawamura props himself up in a half-twist, checking behind him to see that most of Karasuno is indeed heaving desperate breaths in the grass, completely winded from racing each other up the hill. Fools. Kuroo loves them with a fierceness he hadn’t known he was capable of.

“Wow, you’re right. But it’d be pretty shameful to lose them in broad daylight.”

“I know where they go at night too,” Kuroo says defensively. “The second years and Yamaguchi have been practicing serve and block with Ubugawa. Kageyama is with Suga in the main gym, Tsukishima’s with me and Asahi, Hinata floats in out of Nekoma’s practices. So there. I’m a very responsible father.” All he gets in response is an oddly pitying look, so he finally sticks his tongue out in a fit of pettiness. Sawamura laughs.

“Alright, so maybe you’re a better parent than I am. I think it’s in part because my team’s so reliable that I inherently just trust they’ll be where they should be. Minus Lev. Time for another lecture.”

“And Kozume?” 

“Kenma’s a different sort. He’s stuck with me whether he likes it or not.” He says it with a chuckle, like Kozume’s the one getting the raw end of the deal, but Kuroo knows that they’re a partnership through and through. 

Sawamura seems a bit conniving to those looking from the outside in, but Kuroo can tell his team has absolute faith in his leadership, even if they sass him from time to time. He often seems to have just the right words and attitude that helps bind the already tight-knit Nekoma together. 

“Looks to me like he could do a lot worse,” Kuroo says frankly, because maybe it doesn’t get said often enough, but he can recognize that his rival captain really is a good leader.

Surprise flits across Sawamura’s face. “Coming from you, that’s a big compliment. Thank you.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Kuroo asks, and Sawamura puts his hands up.

“No! I really mean it. You’re the hardest working person at the camp- no, that’s not quite right. It’s not that you work harder than the rest of us. It’s that you’re so ready to carry the burden of more than yourself, whether anyone recognizes it or not. Your team never has to question for a moment whether you’ll follow through for them. And that’s admirable.”

Oh, okay then. Kuroo can feel the back of his neck getting hot, surprised to receive such candid praise so suddenly. He’s trying to come up with something to say beside his usual glib nonsense when Sawamura says critically, “What’s less acceptable, though, is how little you know about radio towers. Why would the Skytree be so short, Kuroo? Why would people come and see it?”

Kuroo accidentally flings his water bottle away in rage when he sits up. “So we don’t know what a fancy famous Tokyo landmark looks like. I have bigger issues, Sawamura! Half my team sucks at algebra! Their Japanese lit scores are the worst I’ve ever seen! Noya only knows four words in English!”

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make light of your troubles!” Sawamura waves his hands around, trying to make a soothing motion, and Kuroo just gives him a scathing look.

“Trade teams with me for one day, and you’ll see. The biggest problem you have is your shrinking height, so don’t start with me.” It seems like the kind of thing Sawamura would be sensitive to, and as expected, he stiffens for a moment, eyes darting up as if he can somehow see how tall he is, before he visibly forces himself to relax.

“Oh, you asshole, that’s how we’re going to do this?” Sawamura says with an incredulous laugh.

Kuroo grins back sharply. “What’s the matter, kitty doesn’t have claws? You started the game, _Daichi-san_. I’m just playing by your rules.”

“My rules didn’t include going for the low blow! I was just targeting surface stuff, like the weird noise you make when your serves don’t land quite right!”

“Don’t be coy. Inevitably we all end up in the same place: making digs about each other’s poker abilities and garish taste in t-shirts.”

“Those were both very specifically directed at me,” Sawamura says, looking down at his bright red shirt and probably thinking back to how he never won a single game of cards last night. “I’m almost impressed by how quickly you had that ready.”

“It’s a skill I’ve honed over the years. Keep practicing and you might catch up. Or not.” Kuroo shrugs modestly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and Sawamura makes a noise like he doesn’t want to admit he’s entertained.

“You’re an odd one, Kuroo. One second you seem like a decent person and dedicated senpai, and the next you reveal yourself to be human pestilence.”

“Like you have room to be talking; you’re the living embodiment of noise pollution.”

“Ouch. Is everyone on your team as cruel-hearted and unkempt as you are?”

“Watch how you talk about my crows, you guttersnipe. You profligate _flimflammer_.”

“Those sure are some fancy words for a guy who lives on a chicken farm and sleeps in hay.”

“I’m surprised you even know what a chicken is. The only birds you’ve ever seen are pigeons before they chase you out of your garbage patch.”

Sawamura breaks character first. Kuroo doesn’t know if he finds himself squinting because the sun is shining in his eyes, or because Sawamura’s amused smile is so bright. “You’ve got me there,” Sawamura says. “I _have_ fought a pigeon before.”

“And won, I hope, or you won’t have much luck against us at Nationals.”

“Kuroo, you’re downright tame in comparison to the city birds. One almost ripped out my hair.”

“Don’t count us out so soon. There’s a reason they call it a ‘murder’ of crows, Sa’amura-san,” Kuroo says while baring his teeth, but Sawamura just grins.

“That sounds like a threat. I’ll look forward to it. Please don’t go for my hair, though.”

Behind them starts a very familiar argument involving very familiar voices, and Kuroo feels his temple throb as his gut instinctively seizes up in preparation to yell at his first years. Right afterwards they hear a shout in the distance: “Daichi, where the hell did Lev go this time?! He’s never going to learn how to receive with anything besides his face at this point! And why does Fukunaga have _nine_ bananas?”

“Duty calls,” Kuroo says, and Sawamura sighs alongside him. Kuroo stands first, and helps Sawamura to his feet. “I’m headed this way,” he says, as if they’re parting at the train station, and Sawamura points in the opposite direction, toward Yaku’s voice.

“My stop’s over there. Good luck with yours.”

“Same to you.” They share a moment of quiet solidarity that only a captain would understand. Before they separate, Kuroo decides to extend an invitation. An olive branch instead of a fight, just like Suga and Asahi wanted. “If you’re bored tonight, come visit the third gym. I’d like to know if you have any advice about shutting down Bokuto, because dude, he’s a terror.”

The face Sawamura makes is two steps left of guilty. “That’s very kind of you, but...I might have told Kou that I’m too busy this week to block for him. I’ve still got a lot of people who need to shore up their receives and spikes!” he claims when Kuroo shoots him a betrayed look.

“ _You’re_ the reason that he commandeered half my team?” 

“Unintentionally! I felt a little bad for abandoning Akaashi, but it worked out, didn’t it? It’s been good practice for you guys!” 

Kuroo points at him with dreadful purpose as he backs away. Making peace with this person is out of the question. “I won’t forget this, Sawamura. You’ll rue the day, I swear it.”

“Rue what? The day I helped make you a better player?”

“Exactly. We’re coming for your garbage pile. Watch your tail.”

Sawamura laughs again, and salutes him as he disappears over the crest of the hill. “Don’t go talking about my tail if you don’t intend to follow through, Kuroo. It’s mean to lead someone on.” Before Kuroo has a chance to ask what the hell _that’s_ about, he’s gone to chase down Haiba.

“Daichi-san!! Can’t I practice with you instead? Yaku-san’s too strict! You have to protect me from him, please! ” Haiba wails, trying to escape from his captain’s grip on his shoulders. It looks like a bit of a stretch for Sawamura’s arms.

“Oh, Lev, not even I have the power to do that,” Sawamura says kindly. “Let’s go face Yaku together. It’ll probably be okay.”

Kageyama and Hinata are still bickering about something behind him, but Kuroo stands stupidly in place for another minute, trying to figure out how he was meant to respond to what Sawamura just said. It feels like their witty ripostes have suddenly taken a sideways turn, and Kuroo’s been left behind in the dust.

“Tetsu, you went and got yourself mixed up in something, didn’t you?” Asahi asks as he passes by with Shimizu. They’re holding orange slices for the team.

“Did you say the wrong thing to someone again?” Shimizu asks. She doesn’t even sound judgmental; she just says it like it’s something she’s come to expect of him by now.

“I don’t know that I would call it ‘wrong,’ and that’s what’s most confusing of all,” Kuroo confesses, and she tilts her head in thought.

“I’m not sure I get it, but you’ll work it out, Kuroo. You always do.”

It’s nice that someone has faith in him, Kuroo thinks, as he physically squeezes himself in between his first years to prevent them from tussling, because these days it feels like he’s winging it more than ever. Oh well. As long as it works, he doesn’t care what gets them to the top. Even if that means more blocking practice.


	7. post-breakup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "missed the last train back to me&you": written for day two of kurodai week.
> 
> Warning: they don't get together by the end. I know I've said before that I pretty much only write happy endings for shippy fics, but forgive me this once!! I'm sorry!!!

French vanilla with two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of cream, just the way Daichi likes it. Served in the same worn yellow mug that Kuroo used to always save for him whenever he was over.

  


_(“It reminds me of you, that’s why,” Kuroo explains, smiling to himself as he dries the dishes Daichi hands over._

_“Because it’s butter-colored?” Daichi teases, memorizing the way surprise settles in Kuroo’s eyes like a summer moth on a lantern before it flits away._

_“No! No, it’s- god, this is cheesy. It’s not butter-colored, you goof. It’s sunshine-colored. So, uh. That’s why.”_

_“That’s...really sweet, actually. You’re cute in unexpected ways, Tetsurou.” With careful hands Daichi picks up the sunshine mug, washing the soap bubbles away. When he passes it over, their fingers brush, and he glances down, hiding his flushed face by concentrating on scrubbing the next plate.)_

  


The coffee is bittersweet.

Light splashes the kitchen table from the high skylight window the way it always did, but there’s a glass mobile hanging there now that catches the sunbeams and scatters them in rainbow shards across the room. Kuroo still takes the stool directly beneath the window, leaving the other one for Daichi, in the shade the way he likes it. 

He had also hung Daichi’s coat on the hook farthest from the door, and put out the cream-filled biscuits they used to buy at the corner grocery for a mid-morning snack. They’re the kind of minutiae that he wouldn’t expect someone to know unless they had lived together for quite some time.

It’s not that Daichi is surprised Kuroo still remembers the little details after all these years. It’s just that it aches more than he expected, this reminder that they used to be more than what they are now.

That they used to be in love.

“So you’re still at the same university then?” Kuroo asks after Daichi puts his cup back on its coaster. Those are new: round little silicone things covered in abstract designs and noisy colors. It’s not an aesthetic Daichi would’ve expected to see in Kuroo’s home. Then again, it isn’t just his home anymore.

The blue checkered cotton hand towels in the bathroom. Bottles of sparkling water in the fridge. Frog slippers at the entryway. New chair, new carpet, new curtains. New bedsheets. New indentation on Daichi’s- no, on the other side of the bed.

Kuroo’s house belongs to two people now. Kuroo’s _life_ belongs to two people now, and Daichi isn’t one of them. And it doesn’t hurt to know this, but there remains a hollow spot in Daichi’s heart reserved for the feelings he used to hold for Kuroo that can never be filled.

“Yeah, well, I’m just two years away from tenure and I like my colleagues and my tiny office, so I figured I might as well stick around. And professors get free coffee on Thursday mornings at the uni cafe, so there’s that too.”

Kuroo’s dreadful laugh is the same, all cackle and no panache, and it brings a smile to Daichi’s lips as easily as it ever did. He looks much the same as he did back in high school, in college, and after. Untamable hair, shrewd eyes, and the sweetest smile when the lights are low and sunrise still hours away.

“Sounds like you’ve got a good gig. The hospital caf is the literal worst; I wouldn’t eat there even if they paid me to. And they’re definitely not paying me to.”

“I hope you’re not skipping meals again.”

“Aw, you’re still a worrier, Daichi. Don’t worry, I bring homemade bentos now. No more skipping.”

“Oh! That’s great. Healthy and delicious.” God, Daichi feels like he’s stumbling over a conversation that should be easy, tongue-tied by a few implications that should have been obvious. Home-cooked lunch. That’s good. Kuroo spends so much time taking care of other people that he forgets about himself. It’s good he found someone who pays attention to him the way he deserves.

  


_(“Shit, we’re so late,” Kuroo laughs as he shoves Daichi’s papers into his bag. With one hand he catches the umbrella that Daichi throws his way. Outside, the rain patters down in a spring shower, leaving droplets behind on every budding branch._

_“Not if we catch the 6:10 train, we’re not. C’mon, let’s go, let’s go.” Daichi gets one foot into his shoe before Kuroo lets out a wail and backtracks into the house._

_“Lunch, we forgot lunch!”_

_“Of course we did,” Daichi groans. He kicks his shoe off, accidentally flinging it into the door as he scrambles back inside as well. Their bags lie abandoned on the wooden floor._

_They find a scavenger’s meal in their fridge: an apple for each of them, leftover soup and old rice, some scraps of sausage and boiled vegetables that they hurriedly scoop into a thermos. Daichi drops a sausage on the ground and Kuroo immediately bends down and crams it in his own mouth._

_“Don’t waste food,” he admonishes Daichi, who’s laughing too hard to be able to properly clean the spot of sauce off the kitchen tiles._

_“Don’t keep pressing snooze on the alarm clock!”_

_“That’s a different issue.”_

_“We have a lot of issues,” Daichi says as he hustles them out the door. “Like owning only one umbrella.”_

_“We’ll share, Daichi. It’s more romantic that way, eh?” Kuroo links his arm with Daichi’s as they head down the street, which becomes a liability when they start running to catch the train, umbrella almost flying out of Kuroo’s hand as they sprint down the sidewalk soaked by rain.)_

  


“So,” Kuroo says almost bashfully once they’ve made the requisite amount of small talk before gossiping about the people they know for fifteen minutes. “You’re probably wondering why I called you here. Or you already know. I mean, of course you know; you’re smart, you must have pieced it together-”

“You’re rambling again, Tetsu,” and it’s unfair to sound as fond as he does, but he can’t help himself. “I received the invitation. It was lovely, by the way. You have better taste than I remembered.”

“No, I’m exactly the same,” Kuroo admits. “I had minimal input on the decor. Food and music were more my thing.”

“Oh, no. That’s even worse. Please spare us,” Daichi says in monotone, and Kuroo rolls his eyes good-naturedly. 

“Sure, get your laughs in now, jerk. You won’t be laughing when I withhold cake from you.” Kuroo’s smile slips for a second into nervousness and he tugs at the cowlick on the back of his head. The one that appears when he showers before going to sleep, leaving his hair extra birdlike in the morning. “Which brings me to what I wanted to ask you. I know it’s not usually good form to invite your- um, your ex to your wedding, but we talked it over and...I mean, you and I are still friends, aren’t we?”

Friends, former rivals, former lovers. Something else.

“Of course we are, you dork,” Daichi says, shaking his head like Kuroo’s foolish for even asking.

It’s not that they’d been avoiding each other. It was just a consequence of growing older, Daichi presumed. They’d never had a falling out, or anything so dramatic. Their lives had just started to unwind from one another’s, each of them branching toward something incompatible with the other person’s growth, and sometimes, love stretches too distant to sustain itself.

“Right, and I know we dated, but that was ages ago, and I don’t want that to supercede the friendship we’ve always had. Aki and I discussed it already, and we’re okay with whatever happens, so I don’t want you to think there’s any awkwardness on our end, but I don’t want to pressure you either-”

“Kuroo,” Daichi has to say with gentle firmness, “it’s okay. You can ask your question.”

For the slightest of moments, it seems like Kuroo is going to say something else, his amber eyes caught on Daichi’s the way they used to when they were walking home from the bar and circling around each other in another silly argument over something trivial just for the thrill of the fight. But it passes just as quickly, and he rakes a hand through his bangs before nodding.

“Yeah, you know how I get when I’m anxious. Um, yeah, so I just wanted to ask you in person if you’d like to come to the wedding. With a plus one if you want, of course. I feel like we’ve fallen out of touch recently, and it felt too impersonal to start reaching out again over a piece of paper.” He glances down at the table, just a flicker of his eyes betraying his nerves, before he gathers the iron resolve Daichi has always known him to have and meeting Daichi’s gaze again.

Daichi had always admired that willpower, had come to love it. Some part of him still does, perhaps.

“I’d love to. I’m happy for you, Tetsurou,” Daichi says warmly, and the worst part is that it’s true. He really is happy that Kuroo could find the person he was meant to be with. “Aki seems wonderful, and I’m looking forward to the chance to finally meet.”

Kuroo still brightens with the same glow as he always did whenever receiving good news. “Yeah? That’s great! It’ll be awesome to have you there; Bokuto and the others will be stoked. I missed this – hanging out with you. It’s been too long.”

“Hey, we’ve both been busy. But you’re right, we could make more of an effort. How about after all the excitement from your honeymoon period dies down a little? We’ll get together with the old group.” 

“Well, be careful who you invite. Some of them are lightweights in their old age now.”

“I think I’m more scared of the ones who can still party as hard as they used to,” Daichi says with a grin. Kuroo gives another awful laugh, and some uneven part of their relationship slips back into place where it should be, where it had always been. 

  


_(There’s no way they can see the meteor shower in Tokyo, but they climb up to the roof of their apartment anyway, hoping to catch silver dust glimpses streaking across the sky before blinking out of existence._

_The night is already warm as it is, for an early summer day, but Daichi lies close to Kuroo anyway, their bare arms pressed right against each other on top of the blanket they’d thrown across the hard roof tile._

_A few times, they sit up in excitement, thinking they’d caught a falling star, but it would almost always turn out to be a star of the city’s making instead: lamps and lights reflecting into the sky. Now, they’re just lying still, trading stories about what they used to think they could find in space when they were children._

_“Tetsurou,” Daichi whispers, trying not to disturb the patterns of quiet and noise that mesh together to make the city ambience that surrounds them. Overhead, another fleeting sparkle of white vanishes before Daichi can even realize he saw it._

_“Daichi,” Kuroo whispers back, squeezing his hand once. His eyes glow like autumn in the dark, more real than any light in the city. “What’s up?”_

_“I think...I think that I could stay here with you forever.”_

_Beneath the canvas of Tokyo’s lights, Kuroo leans over to kiss Daichi ever so softly at the corner of his mouth._

_“I’d like that.”)_


	8. partners in crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "moonbound": a space opera au written for kurodai week day 3!
> 
> This is a messily cobbled together space westerny thing, created mostly because I like the idea of Kuroo and Daichi having a backstory as enemies who flirt their way through trying to maim each other, haha. Content warnings: mentions of violence and physical injuries/blood.

Kuroo can feel his knuckles blanching white as he clutches at the armrest of Shibayama’s seat. His navigator is leaned so forward he looks like he might pitch right into the console at any moment, but Kuroo doesn’t want to disturb him while he’s calculating their best escape route with only his eyes, seconds before they need to make a decision. Ahead, the towering spires of Kamomedai’s financial sector stand jagged and crystalline, and will come away barely untouched when their ship finally collides with one of the armored glass walls and shatters into space debris.

“Lev, pull up! Pull up!” Kuroo hisses when he can’t take it anymore, but his pilot just laughs.

“It’s fine, captain! Not until Shibayama says so.” He turns them effortlessly around the next ‘spherescraper but continues his low course, skimming the skyline.

The only thing on their tail right now is the persistent first cruiser that caught them speeding out of the slums, but Kuroo knows from the klaxons sounding outside that it’s only a matter of minutes before an entire police battalion takes after them.

“Okay,” Shibayama finally says, pointing at the next monstrous crystal obtrusion on their right. The magnitude of its size is a step up from the others; must be a central bank for the planetside elite. “Lev, put on a burst of speed to get to the other side of that bank, and once you’re there, ascend as fast as possible. There’s a ton of floating condos up by the stratosphere, but you can handle it, right?”

“Of course I can!” Lev punches the accelerator and they shift violently forward, careening around and out of sight of their pursuer. He does exactly as Shibayama says, taking them almost vertical as he slams their ship up, up, up as fast as this engine can take them – which reminds Kuroo that they need to get a patch job done as soon as they’re back in the rogue quadrant – even as the sound of patrollers gathers behind them.

But Shibayama is right, as usual, and when Lev takes them into the overladen golden clusters of the floating apartments that only the richest can afford, their tiny ship flows through the maze of arches and gardens with ease, Lev’s skills weaving them without trouble out of the tangled airpark. They take the chance to finally put on the thrusters and break out of Kamomedai’s orbit while the police are mired in the gilded complex below.

Once free, Lev gives the rest of them a brief warning before putting on speed, so they’ll be well on their way to another star system by the time the police leave the planet. That, combined with the best cloaking system that underworld credits can buy, should keep them safe long enough to make it back to home base.

“We’re free and clear, team,” Kuroo calls to those below deck. By now Akane and Kai should’ve gotten Inuoka’s scrape taken care of; it was a minor injury, which means they don’t have to bother stopping by any outpost on their way back. “Headed home.”

“Sounds good, captain!” comes Akane’s voice echoing against the steel walls before she begins scolding Inuoka for getting up too quickly. Yaku’s voice joins the din and soon the whole ship is clattering with noise again, just the way Kuroo expects it to be. 

Outside, the barren expanse of space between here and the safe haven of the unbound territories is comforting, as is the quiet. Nothing but stars to light their way back.

\--

Nekoma calls the ramshackle colony of Spring Heights their home, though during most cycles their ship is home enough for the crew. Spring Heights is the most ironically named planetoid on this side of Andromeda, and it’s a hub of underworld activity. Kuroo rarely takes a job before first running it by his information network planetside, because who knows what kind of nonsense you could get embroiled in alone with some unknown party in the outer reaches. This is a lesson he learned long before he had his own people, when he was still a kid running jobs for some two-bit privateers who’d survived on luck instead of smarts. A broken leg, a crater canyon, and three gunfights later, Kuroo had realized he wasn’t working with anyone he hadn’t chosen himself anymore.

Nekoma is the team he built from the ground up with Kenma, who is the only thing more constant in Kuroo’s life than the call of the endless dark, the cosmic dust in his veins. He trusts them with everything, and it’s part of the reason why he never decides alone whether to take on a new job. This time around, he gets word from Johzenji that there’s a job specifically requesting to employ Nekoma; it comes down from Misaki, so Kuroo’s tempted to take it just on principle, but that’s the kind of messy thinking that gets people shipjacked even if she’s one of the most reliable info brokers he knows.

He agrees to meet the client out at Sumida Outpost, located on the outskirts of snake country because he knows that even though Daishou hates his guts, and even though he’s a dirty, thieving bastard, his territories are always well-defended and nominally hospitable toward others of their profession.

As usual, most of the crew stays behind under Kai’s command, busy with everyday tasks like sprucing up the ship and fencing their goods. Kuroo takes their secondary ship with Kenma, Yaku and Yamamoto, and they head off for the grungy, scorpion-ridden tavern Yaku favors at Sumida. 

Even before they land Kuroo gets a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it’s different from his flight instinct. There’s a spark of danger in the air, though he could also write that off as the dissatisfied static that always buzzes around dry, end of the road towns like this.

The tavern is dimly lit as always, and filled with the sounds of cards shuffling and deals being made. The smell of tobacco and ale and burnt meat hang heavy in the air, and it’s difficult to see through the veil of smog as they make their way toward their usual corner table next to the blown out window. The person seated there is staring out at the dunes that stretch on and on in gray and tan bands to the horizon. Kuroo can’t make out any details of their client’s face until he’s close enough to touch.

“Hello, captain. It’s been a while,” says the calm, terrifying voice of Imperial Vice Admiral Sawamura Daichi a split second before the air clears and Kuroo can make out more than his silhouette shrouded in tavern smoke. It doesn’t speak well to Kuroo’s preservation instincts that his first thought is _damn, just as hot as I remembered_ and not _danger!!_

“ _Shit_ ,” Yaku curses, hand jumping to his gun faster than Kuroo can say a word. At least one of them is still on it. Yamamoto shifts immediately in front of Kenma, fully prepared to shield him from any harm with his own body. But even though Kuroo’s body is reflexively poised to spring away, his heart remains steady. The Imperial Navy might be the scum on the bottom of a comet hopper’s shoe, but he’s known Sawamura for over a decacycle now, and he knows that the man would never initiate an attack against one of Kuroo’s subordinates unless he had made certain to kill Kuroo first. There’s a degree of integrity in him that most Imperial officers don’t possess.

Sawamura makes no move to stand or draw to fire; instead, he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. Around them, activity in the tavern continues, no one disturbed by this turn of events the way Nekoma is, which Kuroo supposes either speaks well for the situation, or it means everyone in the building is going to die. Even out here in the boondocks, the name and face of one of New Miyagi’s best military commanders is known and feared, so why isn’t anyone else surprised to see him?

“If it helps put your mind at ease, Yaku-san, I came unarmed. You can check if you want.” And he looks down at his waist, folding his hands casually atop his head. Yaku wastes no time flipping open Sawamura’s coat and patting him down.

“He’s not lying,” Yaku says, but one hand remains at his holster and his eyes never leave Sawamura even as he backs away. “But I don’t trust him yet.”

“That’s fair. But I didn’t call you out here to hunt you down,” Sawamura tells him. He gestures at the bench on the other side of the table. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I actually really do have a job for you.” No one moves.

“Forgive me if I find that a little unbelievable, vice admiral. Seeing as the last time we met you gave me a good bonk on the head for my troubles, and strafed most of the left side of my ship right off,” Kuroo says mildly. His eyes flick down to watch the way Sawamura’s mouth twitches into a quick smile before he tries to look neutral again. 

“If I remember correctly, you gave me a nice parting gift too, Kuroo-san.” He reaches up to tug aside the right sleeve of his dusty tunic (and isn’t that a look, Sawamura Daichi out of that crisp uniform and dressed like a meteor rat like the rest of them) and bares the long sword burn Kuroo left him with two cycles ago, back on one of Tsubakihara’s lesser moons.

“It looks good on you?” Kuroo tries to sound remorseful, but it had been one hell of a fight that he probably would’ve been laughing his way through if his crew hadn’t been scrambling all over the deck, desperately putting up patch shields where they could. Even now he can remember with perfect clarity the taste of adrenaline and dust against his clenched teeth as he finally knocked Sawamura off the roof of their ship to be bubbled back to his own fleet. Crazy bastard hadn't let up on Kuroo for a second, even if it meant almost getting fried by one of his own ships’ artillery. Then again, Kuroo has no room to speak. He’d almost dragged them both down into a death marsh during a knife fight once. “Rugged. Everyone digs a good scar.”

“Yeah, my whole unit wolf-whistles every time I walk by,” Sawamura says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Well, can you blame them? You’re too handsome to be wasted in your line of work. Come take a walk on the wild side. We’re prettier and we have more fun.”

Sawamura laughs when Kuroo winks at him. “I suppose one of those statements is true.”

Just like that they’re bantering again, the way they always do before one of them inevitably draws a weapon. Kuroo can sense Kenma’s sigh long before he hears it.

“What kind of job could you have for people like us?” Kenma asks, sliding back into view, even though Yamamoto still has an arm held protectively out in front of him. He watches Sawamura with what looks like a disinterested face, but Kuroo knows better. He’s intrigued, albeit still on his guard.

“Honestly, ‘people like you’ are the only ones I would trust with this. I need a certain skill set – one that Nekoma’s proven to excel at – and I need a group of people I can...I don’t know if _trust_ is the right word, but let’s go with it for now.” Sawamura sits forward looking briefly at each of them in turn. “I know we have a long, volatile history, but it’s also exactly why I think you guys are the people I need to hire for this job. Because I know what your boundaries are, and I know I can count on you not to fuck me over where it counts.”

He looks directly at Kuroo when he says this, and there’s a plain honesty in his eyes that leads Kuroo to finally take a seat across from him, elbows up on the sticky tabletop.

“Alright, that’s enough buttering up. I’ll hear you out. What’s the job?”

“I need to get into Datekou. And I need your help to do it.”

He’s met with silence.

Probably because what he just proposed is beyond insane. The others must feel as shocked as Kuroo does, and it seems for a second that even the rest of the tavern conversation lulls when the name Datekou is spoken aloud. It’s a cursed shroud that settles over their table, instantly dampening the already tense mood.

“Wait- wait a second,” Yamamoto sputters first. “Are you telling me you want to hire us for a _jailbreak_? From the _Iron Wall_?”

“Yep. That is exactly what I want.” 

“This is a setup,” Yaku announces. “You’re goading is into accepting your highly illegal mission then busting us once we get there. Now, what I’m confused about is why you didn’t pick something that wasn’t a blatant suicide mission.”

“That’s another fair assumption, but I give you my word that I’m completely serious. I didn’t come here to entrap you.” Sawamura flexes one hand, clenching and unclenching in an exercise of control, clearly trying to suppress some emotion as he keeps his voice even. His eyes are incandescent as he continues.

“They have four of my crew locked up in there, and I want them back.”

“Your crew? On what grounds? The Karasuno’s an Imperial ship,” Kuroo says in confusion. Not that the empire’s navy is in any way a stronghold of morality, but for government dogs, the crew of the Karasuno are better than most. Honorable where honor still counts. He can’t imagine they’d have done anything worth being court martialed for.

Sawamura’s laugh is pure bitterness. “The Karasuno _was_ an Imperial ship. Now it’s being junked for scrap. Those of my crew that the court couldn’t frame for treason they reassigned to the outer rim fleet. The cloud skimmers. Ougiminami, Kakugawa. Chidoriyama. They scattered my team, my _family_ , across the stars, and they locked up the rest behind the Iron Wall. I’m taking them back.”

Kuroo swallows down the parched itchiness in his throat at this news. It’s not like Nekoma could ever be friends with a naval crew, but there had always been a kind of mutual respect between themselves and the Karasuno, and this is nothing he ever would have wished on them. 

“Well, shit, Sa’amura-san, what the fuck did you do to get your entire ship obliterated?”

“You know me,” Sawamura says, his smile vicious. “Stayed a little too honest. Didn’t look the other way when they insisted. I kept on pushing, kept on playing even after I should have folded.”

“But you never fold,” Kuroo says ruefully.

“No, I don’t,” and it might be the only time he’ll ever sound like he regrets it. “And I still don’t plan to.”

It’s not just simple posturing. After enough encounters, there are a few things Kuroo would say he and Sawamura can tell about each other. One fact is that they share the same tenacity, for better or worse. 

This asshole really means it: he would walk right up to the Iron Wall armed with only his black market gun and military issue sword and it would still be Datekou’s mistake for standing in his way. But all logic says that despite Sawamura’s damnable perseverance, he’s dead if he tries whatever idiotic plan he’s come here to talk Nekoma into.

“That’s your prerogative, and I don’t expect any less of you, really, but. Fuck, Sawamura, you know we’re fucked if we take this on, don’t you? Everyone knows that Nekoma’s the best at infiltration that there is, but we’re _thieves_ , not soldiers. We move cargo, not people. And we don’t take a job like this no matter how lucrative. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can do this.”

Sawamura nods once, understanding. Then he sighs, sounding truly regretful.

“I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to do this, but I think I’m going to have to call in that favor.”

Yamamoto sucks in a harsh breath, and the others fall still. Kenma’s hand twitches at his side, resisting the urge to reach out to Kuroo’s arm. Kuroo himself just rests his hands together on the table and bites his lip once before nodding as well. He might have figured.

Out here, in the lawless territories, on the husk planets fit only for rogues and mercenaries, a life saved is a life owed. And Kuroo knew that when Sawamura inevitably cashed in on that favor he wouldn’t take it lightly, even if he wouldn’t demand outright that Kuroo sacrifice his life for him.

“You know that only promises my service, not that of Nekoma, correct?” Next to him, Kuroo can feel his crewmates tensing, but they all know better to say anything. They know they can’t talk him out of this one.

Sawamura brought Kuroo back from death’s edge once, at the cost of his own arm and half his jaw. Both parts had been grafted back on with the best medi-tech the empire could afford, but it’d been a total shitshow for a while there, the two of them stranded alone on the ice and iron hull of a downed Inarizaki starfighter. Kuroo only remembers fever-dream flashes of the event, too far gone on whatever the foxes had gassed him with as he shoved Alisa and Fukunaga into the last escape pod. Sawamura found him lying barely conscious on the stern of the ship, and rescued him from being slaughtered by a group of Inarizaki’s automated guards. Fucking fox militants and their stupid fucking robots.

“C’mon now, Kuroo, I can’t you die at the hands of the Federation. You’re pirate scum, but you’re still an Imperial citizen,” Sawamura told him, hitching him higher on his back and trundling on through the blood and shrapnel splattered snow.

“Like fuck I am,” Kuroo mumbled out, too woozy to banter.

“Save your breath until you’ve got enough brainpower for a witty comeback.”

Sawamura carried his useless rag doll body all the way to the outpost where they could hunker down until help arrived. Kuroo thought they would be safe there: it was converted from a shrine to a makeshift waystation, all stone walls and steel fixtures, but it had been overrun with more Inarizaki infantry automatons. They fought off the droids at great cost, and the last memory Kuroo has of that desolate place before waking up under Kenma and Kai’s watchful guard is of Sawamura, his face a mess of jagged flesh and his left side drenched in blood, cutting down another advancing automaton before it could reach them.

Kai told him later that Sawamura hadn’t even bothered to send a perfunctory ship after them when they came to collect Kuroo. He’d simply waved them off, saying that Kuroo owed him now, and hobbled into the hold of his lieutenants to be rushed back to the medbay of the Karasuno. A full cycle passed before they met again, and they avoided the topic altogether, choosing to mock each other about overcompensating with their weapons, which of course led naturally into trying to shoot one another again.

But Kuroo has never forgotten that debt, and apparently, neither has Sawamura.

“I know. I would never ask you to risk them. Under any other circumstance I wouldn’t ask you to risk yourself either; you could say I’ve developed a strange interest in keeping you alive.” He offers Kuroo the slightest of smiles, and it almost makes him look sad. “But for my crew I would do anything.”

“Understatement of the centicycle. Alright, Sawamura-san, you have me at your disposal,” Kuroo says, finally leaning back in his seat to relax. If he’s going to die like this, then he might as well enjoy the time he has left in the universe. This is a fool’s errand, he knows, but on the one in a million chance they pull any of it off, well. It’ll be the adventure of a lifetime.

“If my captain is in, then so am I,” Yamamoto says quietly, and Kuroo looks sharply over at him.

“No, that’s not your decision to make. Nekoma isn’t a part of this deal.”

“Yeah, it is, Kuroo-san. If you’re in, then I’m in. That’s how it is.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not risking any of you for Sawamura’s death wish-”

“Do you like pretending to be an idiot, or did that bonk really knock some of your sense out of you?” Yaku says, an irritated line cutting into his forehead. “This is a job for Nekoma. You accepted it. Therefore, we’ve all accepted it. Kenma?”

Kenma, the usual voice of reason, just gives Kuroo a tired shrug. “Kuro, we’ll take the offer back to base to discuss, but you know you won’t get anywhere without the rest of us. Tora’s right. If you’re taking the job, then so are we. Is this acceptable?” he asks Sawamura.

“No complaints here. I came to hire Nekoma, after all, not just Kuroo. Though you personally occupy a special place in my life,” Sawamura says dryly, running a thumb across the graft scar running along his cheek.

“In your heart too, I would hope,” Kuroo says automatically, still hung up on the thought of getting his whole crew annihilated over a clearly impossible feat. But the conversation is already moving on without him.

“Before we commit to this, I wanna be sure we know what we’re really getting into,” Kenma says, sliding onto the bench next to Kuroo. 

“Of course. Ask away.”

“Strategy, logistics, personnel – are you willing to leave it all up to us?”

“I trust you to do whatever needs doing, yes. And I’ll finance whatever you need me to, on top of your payment.”

“Okay. This will take some time to get together; they’re not on death row are they? Good. One last time, I need to check. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Even knowing you’re more than certain to die?”

Sawamura doesn’t waver in the slightest. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“You’re already lucky your men are just imprisoned instead of up for execution,” Kenma warns. “But if you try this, they won’t pardon you again. Ignoring the fact that it’s virtually impossible to get into Datekou, let alone get back out – even if we somehow miraculously succeed, you’re dead the second any of you ever set foot on Imperial territory again. You’ll be worse off than even we are.”

“I know, and I don’t care. They lost me the moment they took my crew from me.”

“What happened to you?” Yaku asks abruptly. “They took your men, took your ship, but for someone like you- the less you have, the more dangerous you are. Why would they let you stay around?”

“Divine intervention, I guess you could call it. An old friend on the flagship Seijou pulled me for one of his smaller ships, and I’m too fucking decorated for the empire to just throw me to the wolves. They want me to waste a few years before they can reassign me to a frontline ship and hopefully get myself killed on some nameless moon in the middle of nowhere. I figured I would do them the favor of getting out of their hair before then.” He says it matter of factly, like he decided this life-changing course of action over tea one day.

“And cause an intergalactic riot in the process?” Kuroo asks, impressed by how far off the deep end Sawamura has decided to dive in one go. 

“Why not? I’ve always been committed to justice, not order, captain. The empire has made it clear to me they do not value justice, so I’ll take it into my own hands.” There’s that shadow again, the one that lingers behind Sawamura’s brown eyes whenever he carries the weight of more than just himself. Kuroo can only see it when he’s really looking for it, but there’s something that lurks in the corners of Sawamura’s soul that’s just as dangerous as the rest of him, albeit in a different way.

“You know, I always thought you’d make one hell of a pirate. It’s good to know that assumption wasn’t misplaced.”

Sawamura laughs, some of the darkness in his gaze ebbing away. “Funny, I always thought you would have excelled in the navy. Odd how fate works sometimes, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think it was fate that brought you to us today. I think you just take a kind of sadistic pleasure in fucking up my plans for a carefree life, vice admiral.”

“I’m not going to lie to you by denying it, captain.”

It’s kind of fucked up that Kuroo missed this, the dance of words they’d perfected in between trying to stab each other. It’ll be strange, adapting to a new relationship built on more than banter and the chase, but if he’s being honest with himself, he’s always wondered what it might be like if they spent more than thirty heart-racing minutes with each other every time they met. Might as well find out before he dies.

With a grin, he extends his hand across the table, holding just a second too long after Sawamura accepts the handshake. “Alright, Sawamura-san, let’s get your team back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go look at this [beautiful art](http://mashazart.tumblr.com/post/173944646037/i-dont-think-it-was-fate-that-brought-you-to-us) by mozaikmage/mashazart of Kuroo and Daichi space flirting!!! It's beautiful!! So is she!!


	9. bad habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "help me help you:" for day 4 (bad habits)! This is dedicated to the wonderful and effervescent [zombiesolace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiesolace/pseuds/zombiesolace)!!!
> 
> A ridiculous fic set in another post-canon captain squad college AU. Don't ask me why they're all so dumb here! I don't know either!!

Teeth clenched around his plastic straw, Suga takes a violent sip of his iced tea as he watches the scene before him with a critical eye. Ice clatters around his cup as he creates a vacuum with his straw, but he barely registers the noise.

“This. What is _this_ ,” he demands under his breath so that only Oikawa, who’s sitting next to him, can hear. He points to Daichi standing in line at the register to pay. Kuroo is next to him, and they’re squabbling about something – how much each person’s share is probably – and they keep trying to shove bills into each other’s hands, but wind up clasping hands in a stalemate. “Holding hands _again_? This is like the nineteenth time. When are they going to quit making excuses and admit they just like doing it?”

“They already have?” Oikawa says around a bite of croissant.

“What.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, somehow radiating a mild condescension even when he cheerfully replies, “Oh, you didn’t know? They started dating a few months ago, at the beginning of junior year.”

Suga shakes his head. “No. No, I would know if one of my best friends started dating his high school rival. They’re not dating.” Yet. Three years isn’t long enough to change some things, apparently.

“Well, you know it’s been a few months since you last saw Dai-chan in person, Refreshing-kun. Things change. People change!”

“Stop your taunts. Kuroo’s been a bad influence on you,” Suga says, unimpressed. He balls up Oikawa’s napkin and flicks it right into his eyes. “No, this is Daichi being a big idiot who’s bad at feelings,” he continues as Oikawa splutters. “He should just toughen up and ask Kuroo out already.” Suga doesn’t understand how literally nothing has changed since high school; why won’t Daichi just let him help?

“I’m telling you, there’s no need because they’re already dating!” 

“They’re not,” interrupts Ushijima, who sets his and Bokuto’s plates down on the table to join them. “They’re just friends,” he tells Suga calmly as he unwraps his sandwich.

“What would _you_ know about it?” Oikawa sneers. “You couldn’t even romance a rock if you wanted to.”

Ushijima pauses to think about this for a moment, before nodding. “You’re probably right. But I know because Sawamura told me so when we were studying together last week.”

“Aha. Two against one,” Suga says triumphantly. It’s not like he would’ve changed his mind on the subject anyway, but there’s no way Ushiwaka would ever lie about something like this, so he’s got even more irrefutable evidence.

Oikawa throws his hands in the air. “Look, I don’t even know why I’m invested in this, but you’re wrong. Dai-chan must be lying. I don’t see how the fuck two people could act the way they do and not be dating.”

“Sometimes really close friends are like that though,” Bokuto pipes up. His cup is already empty somehow; Suga didn’t even see him take a single sip. “Kuroo’s already got weird boundaries from watching out for Kenma for so long.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference! Iwa-chan puts my laundry in the wash sometimes-”

“Poor Iwaizumi,” Ushiwaka says quietly, like he’s re-evaluating everything he knows about the other ace.

“-but he never _folds_ it for me. He just puts it in a basket and then upends it all on my head!”

“And I’m sure you deserve it, but folding someone else’s laundry is just the kind of thing Daichi would do because it annoys him to see it lying around undone. Kuroo’s pretty responsible about things like that too.”

“Okay, well, they buy each other food and drinks all the time,” Oikawa says, stabbing his hand at the two who have finally made it to the front of the line. “Just out of nowhere!”

“They’re buying _me_ food right at this very second,” Suga counters. “And I’m definitely not part of whatever’s going on between them.”

“You’re a guest; of course someone has to treat you.” Oikawa dismisses him with a careless wave of his hand, and Suga has to remind himself it would be inappropriate to chop him across the neck.

“They’re paying for me and Waka-ushi too,” Bokuto says and now his entire plate is cleared; how on earth does he eat so fast?

“Wait- why aren’t they treating _me_? What the hell?” Oikawa jolts to his feet, outraged.

“According to your logic, it’s because you aren’t dating Kuroo and Sawamura the way we three are,” Ushijima says dryly, gesturing at everyone else at the table. “Sorry.”

Suga is scared for a moment he’ll have to break up a cat fight, but to his surprise Oikawa barks out a laugh and sits back down.

“Touché. But I’m sticking to my guns. They’re dating and I’ll prove it to you before the day is up.” The same frightening light that fills his eyes before he serves is present now, and Suga shivers before scooting his chair a few centimeters away. 

“No, nope. No way. I know Daichi better than anyone else in existence besides Asahi, which means I’m fully qualified to say that he’s a dumbass when it comes to dating. They’re not together. As annoying as that is.”

“Oof, that’s pretty mean, Suga!” Bokuto says, and Suga shrugs.

“It’s okay. We’re best friends. Iwaizumi says stuff like this about Oikawa all the time.”

“Iwa-chan has also drop-kicked me into a foam pit, so maybe he’s not the best role-model?”

Suga stares blankly at him, confused as to what Oikawa’s trying to say. “I don’t understand- that seems like completely reasonable behavior.”

“Oi.”

“Anyway, what I’m getting at is this. Neither of them are competent enough to have admitted that they have feelings for each other; I would bet eight hundred dollars on that. Which means Daichi is just torturing himself by holding hands for no reason!”

“But that’s so dumb,” Oikawa cries, tugging at his own hair.

“You know,” Bokuto says thoughtfully, “if Suga is right...it makes me wonder if they’re even aware that they’re doing it? ”

“How could they not know?” Oikawa asks in disbelief. “You’d have to be an idiot not to know, and they’re not- okay, Dai-chan isn’t an idiot. Tettsun is an idiot by association, sometimes.”

“I think they’re kinda just used to it now. You know, since it just happens constantly. Like, they’ll be making dinner and start goofing off and playing keep away with the soy sauce, and end up grabbing hands again? Or when Daichi washes the dishes and Kuroo has to help him take the rubber gloves off…” Bokuto uses Oikawa’s hands to demonstrate, doing some romantic period piece bullshit as he mimes tugging a glove off.

“Linking arms and leaning on each other when they walk home drunk from the bar,” Ushiwaka offers. “It does all seem like a lot. But Sawamura swears they’re not dating.”

“I told you so,” Suga groans. Daichi is a disaster. Suga has no idea how he’s managed to successfully make it through two years without Suga or Asahi around to get his personal life in order. “If he had let me help him, this would have been sorted out ages ago.”

“Mm, I’m not so sure about that,” Oikawa says, eyebrows drawn together as if he doubts Suga’s capabilities. “Now, I’m not saying that you’re not a great friend, but I don’t know if your powers could do anything about this situation. If you’re even really right about them not being together.”

Suga doesn’t know how to even begin to respond to this offense. Who the _hell_ does Oikawa think he’s talking to?

“Are you questioning my wingman skills, Oikawa-kun? I’ll have you know that not only could I _single-handedly_ change the state of their relationship with just a few words, the only reason I haven’t done so yet is because I respect Daichi’s free will and desire to flounder around like a hopeless loon-”

This is the moment that Kuroo and Daichi manage to extricate themselves from the endless line at the register. Daichi spots Suga looking in his direction and raises his hand in a wave.

“What’s up?” he asks, smile slipping away when he notices that Suga’s making his ‘hiding something from you’ face. Dammit. Damn Suga’s wonderfully expressive face and damn Daichi’s level 100 perception. “What did you people do to Suga,” he demands of the group and then he narrows his eyes and swivels his attention back to Suga instead like he’s scented blood in the air. “No, wait a second. What did you do to these good people, you demon?”

Suga gasps and slams his empty cup on the table. The others jump in their seats. “How dare you, Sawamura Daichi? Call _me_ , your pillar of support, one of your very best friends in the whole world, your _vice-captain_ -”

“Disowned. I’m disowning you because I know you just did something horrible even if I can’t prove it.”

“Aw, don’t be so harsh toward Suga, Daichi,” Kuroo says, stepping in when no one else wants to get in the way of the two of them staring each other down, unblinking. “He came all this way to see you!”

He puts his food on the table and makes his way forward to take one of the seats beside Suga, but Daichi’s hand shoots forward and grabs hold of his wrist before he can advance any further. Suga’s eyes almost bug out of his face. The others sit transfixed by the scene unfolding before them.

“No, don’t sit next to him. He’s up to something,” Daichi says, tugging Kuroo back.

“ _I’m_ up to something? You! You’re- ugh, look at you!” Suga practically yells, pointing at him. “You oblivious fool!”

“Why are you yelling at me?!” He’s still grabbing onto Kuroo’s wrist as if it’s a totally normal thing to platonically hold your crush’s hand eighty-four times a day, and Suga wants to scream. Kuroo, for his part, just allows Daichi to latch onto him, looking between the two of them like he’s spectating a ping-pong match. Another fool.

“Because you _deserve_ it.” Suga stands abruptly, almost knocking his chair backwards, and stomps toward them. He doesn’t even know what he’s planning to do, but he knows something must be done. Not because his pride as a best friend has been hurt, of course not, but because he can’t stand to see Daichi torment himself (and everyone who knows him) any longer. Maybe he’ll just smush their dumb faces together and hope it works out. From the corner of his eye, he sees Bokuto and Oikawa staring at him in open trepidation and excitement, respectively. 

Kuroo’s cat instincts must tell him he’s in some kind of danger, because he startles and tries to slip away, but this results in him tripping over an uneven board in the floor and toppling backwards. He falls out of Daichi’s grasp and lands on his behind with a small “oof!” Suga stops short, and settles for glowering at him, waiting to see what happens next.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Daichi hands his tray to Ushijima, then reaches down and pulls Kuroo back to his feet. Suga feels like his soul is transcending from his body when he sees their hands clasped together again. But nothing happens beyond Daichi helping to dust Kuroo off and sending a reproachful look in Suga’s direction.

“If you want to fight Kuroo, do it after lunch. You both get cranky on an empty stomach,” he says, and Suga almost socks him in the jaw.

“Okay, why don’t you take a seat, Suga?” Bokuto says, suddenly standing at his side. He plants one broad hand on Suga’s back and ‘helps’ him back to his seat, out of punching range. Daichi sits warily down beside him, and Suga tries to get his exasperation back under control, but it must still be showing on his face because Daichi won’t stop staring.

“What? What is that face, stop that,” he says, waving his chopsticks toward Suga’s head.

“I’m not making a face!”

“You are making like _five_ faces; don’t tell me you’re not trying to do something terrible to my life-”

“I would never-”

“You _liar_ , I’m calling Asahi to come take you home before you can start your trickery.”

“Asahi isn’t going to drive three hours just to come pick me up because you’re a paranoid weirdo! He has things to do!”

“He’s probably just eating cookies and reading a book! Getting some fresh air would be good for him!”

“Don’t be horrible, Daichi; he had a big test today! It’s the reason he couldn’t come visit this weekend!”

“Okay, I’m not getting between that. Those two are terrifying,” Suga hears Kuroo saying quietly to Bokuto as he scuttles around to the other side of the table.

“Karasuno,” the rest murmur in unison as some kind of agreement.

“Why do you keep looking over at Kuroo?” Daichi hisses so only Suga can hear as the others return to eating and pretending to ignore them.

“Oh, I don’t know, why do you keep _holding hands_ with him?” Suga whispers fiercely back, and Daichi pales.

“Do I?” He stares at his hand in horror, like he wasn’t aware of his own limb’s machinations.

“Okay, that’s enough. You’re sending me to an early grave.” Turning to his other hosts, he smiles sweetly and tells them, “Excuse us for a minute. We have some important Karasuno business to discuss.” And he drags Daichi outside.

  


Oikawa watches them go with a shake of his head, and then turns his attention to Kuroo, who is now the focus of the group.

“What? What did I do?” Kuroo asks, glancing at each of them. He taps his straw against the rim of his cup, bouncing caramel syrup and whipped cream off the edge. “I didn’t eat the last of your milk bread, no matter what Bo says. The oatmeal _was_ me, though. And the rice crackers.”

This admission causes Oikawa to pause with his hands in midair, about to accompany his words with some appropriately dramatic gestures. “Okay. Let’s table that discussion for now – but don’t think for a second I’m forgetting about it – and talk about your issues instead.”

“What issues? I have no issues. I’m a cool cat, right?” Kuroo directs this question toward Ushiwaka, who gives him the Ushiwaka equivalent of a flat stare. Which means he just looks at him regular-like.

“What you are is a strange human.”

“Ouch,” Kuroo says. “That actually feels kind of hurtful, somehow, coming from you.”

“Ushiwaka-chan’s sick burns aside, we really need to talk about your...how do I put this. Your addiction? How does that sound?” Oikawa asks the table. He receives two approving nods back.

“Addiction? What are you guys talking about?” Kuroo laughs around his straw, clearly not taking their concerns seriously. Oikawa sighs and dangles his hand in front of Bokuto, who dutifully laces his fingers with Oikawa’s, and bats his lashes for good measure.

“I’m talking about this, Tettsun,” Oikawa says, gesturing at their grasp with his free hand. “This nonsense, right here. ‘Oh, Daichi, you got a letter in the mail today! Let me gently caress your wrist while handing it to you, because that’s totally normal.’ Who do you think you’re fooling?”

Kuroo stops chewing his straw, letting it dangle stupidly at the edge of his mouth. “Okay, wait-”

Bokuto clears his throat before pitching his voice into an almost accurate imitation of Kuroo. “‘Oh, Daichi, those groceries look so heavy, why don’t you let me help you? Whoops, haha, looks like we’re holding hands again, what are the odds?’”

“‘Oh, Daichi, you forgot to put on hand cream again,’” Ushiwaka starts, trying and failing to use a Kuroo voice, which adds an extra layer to the mockery, Oikawa thinks. “‘Let me help you with that, extensively, right in the middle of the doorway of the apartment so that our roommates can’t leave home for the next ten minutes because we’re taking up the whole hallway.’ Sorry,” he says when the rest of them turn to stare at him. “I guess that was annoying me more than I thought.”

“What do you have to say for yourself? Explain!” Oikawa points accusingly right at Kuroo’s face, but he doesn’t expect the other boy to bury his face in his hands. 

“Oh my god, I don’t know, I can’t stop doing it! I know it’s stupid but he has such nice hands, and such a cute face. Everything about Daichi is cute; it’s like black magic or something. Am I possessed? Fuck, I might be, but I _physically_ cannot stop myself. You have to help me,” Kuroo demands, grabbing Oikawa by the shoulders. “I don’t know what to do.” He begins shaking Oikawa like a magic 8 ball. Ouch.

“First of all, start by not killing your bros!” Bokuto slowly pries Kuroo’s fingers off Oikawa’s neck and forces him to hold hands with himself, almost jamming Kuroo’s knuckles while doing so. Oikawa can feel his brains returning to their pre-mushed state, though he’s got a slight headache now. “Huh, this might work for your other problem too,” he says, moving Kuroo’s joined hands to the tabletop so Ushiwaka and Oikawa can see. “If you’re holding hands with yourself, you’ll leave Daichi alone.”

“...there’s something unpleasant about this solution,” Kuroo says with a pout.

“Is it the fact that it makes you look sad, or is it because you don’t actually want to leave Sawamura alone?” 

Oikawa is pretty sure Ushiwaka didn’t intend any of that sentence as an insult, but Kuroo deflates further anyway, before saying, “Both?”

It’s starting to look like Sugawara might have been right about the state of Daichi and Kuroo’s relationship, and while the thought of admitting defeat to the other setter grates on Oikawa, he also has the decency to put his friends’ needs first, so it’s in this moment, right here, looking at Kuroo pathetically clasping his own hand, that he decides he’s going to help his darling, idiot friends get together. It’s been long enough. Besides, if they’re dating by the end of the day, then Oikawa can _technically_ prove himself right to Suga. Not that that’s why he’s doing this.

“Then we’ll have to take a different route. It’s time, hopeless-at-love-Kuroo-san, for you to graduate to the ranks of people who no longer wallow alone on Valentine’s Day. It’s time for you to finally win Dai-chan’s heart!”

“Don’t worry, needs-to-just-spit-it-out-already-Kuroo-san, we’ve got you,” Bokuto says, full of even more confidence than Oikawa is. “With us on your side, you’ll be dating in no time. Right, Ushiwaka?”

“I don’t know what help I can give uselessly-pining-Kuroo-san, but I support your valiant endeavor.”

“Can you all stop channeling Akaashi for five seconds and tell me what the plan actually _is_?”

Oikawa’s smile is full of grace and pity. “Here’s where we’ll start. When Suga finally lets your beloved return to us, let him know you’d like to speak to him alone for a few minutes as we’re headed back home. Then the rest of us will make ourselves scarce.”

Bokuto leans forward on his elbows, excitement pouring forth from him in a wave. He’s in the process of devouring some pickles Ushiwaka left behind on his plate. “Oh, trying to get some one-on-one time for the big moment, huh? Awesome start.”

But Kuroo remains unconvinced. “Oikawa, we’ve been alone together a million times before. That’s a million times I never managed to confess. How’s this time going to be any different?”

“Tettsun, the difference is _us_ , of course. Now listen to me-”

Before Oikawa can delve into the next genius step of his six-step plan, Daichi comes stalking back in with that straight-backed, avenging angel kind of walk he does sometimes.

“Ah, Dai-chan,” Oikawa starts, trying to figure out how to banish him until they’re ready. He glances quickly around to see if Suga is following behind, because he’s probably the only person who can keep Daichi at bay for an extended period of time, but he’s lagging behind, looking both nervous and giddy about something. “Could you do me a favor? I need-”

“Sorry, Oikawa, can it wait just a minute?” Daichi flashes him a quick smile, the kind that acts like instant relief for a case of the jitters, before his expression grows serious again. And kind of dark, if you ask Oikawa.

With all eyes on him, Daichi stops in front of Kuroo, sharply takes a deep breath, and reaches out a hand. Kuroo takes hold of it like a Pavlovian reaction, gaze never leaving Daichi because he’s that far gone on him - and Oikawa feels like this moment alone is enough for him to justify his mistaken understanding of their relationship status - and says, “Hey.”

 _Hey_. No wonder he’s never managed to confess.

Daichi doesn’t much mind though, because he makes that horrible, sappy face that only Kuroo can bring out in him, and responds, “Hey,” as well.

Oikawa doesn’t know if he loves or hates this.

“How can I be of service?” Kuroo asks, leaning on his palm, with his other hand still resting on Daichi’s, because they’re both weird as fuck.

“It’s a tall order, and I’m not sure if you have the time to deal with all of it right now.”

“Oh, Daichi, I can always make time for you,” Kuroo says, as if he’s smooth, even though he literally has whipped cream in his hair.

“Yeah, you’re reliable that way. Except for that time you left me stranded at the train station.”

“My bike was broken! You can’t ride tandem on a bike with no handlebars!”

“You had that old skateboard, didn’t you?”

“Even I’m not clever enough to figure out how to give someone a ride home on a _skateboard_.”

“You could have rolled me home.” Daichi’s straight face doesn’t slip for a second.

“Ahem.” Suga clears his throat noisily from where he’s hovering a yard or two away from the table. The eye contact he makes with Daichi is significantly judgmental.

“Right,” Daichi mumbles, before turning back to Kuroo to say, “Kuroo, I think you should consider dating me.”

It’s said so casually that no one besides Suga even registers what he says for the first second, until Kuroo stumbles on his words, asking, “W-wait, what was that?”

Daichi’s face is slowly turning pink, but he remains resolute, and says with chilling calm, “Yeah, I know there are a lot of factors to take into account, so I thought I could list out some, um, benefits? To you? Number one-”

Suga makes a displeased noise. Oikawa accidentally breathes in some of his own saliva.

“-I’m pretty handy around the house. I’m good at fixing things and I can follow recipes well. I mean, you probably already knew these things – we live together – but there are other perks too! Like, uh. I can help you neaten up your room?”

“This isn’t a _job interview_ , Daichi,” Suga grumbles so quietly that Oikawa thinks he’s imagining it at first. Normally, he’d be ready with a gibe too, but he’s too engrossed in the proceedings to say anything. 

“My room _is_ kind of messy,” Kuroo says in a daze. It’s almost certain that he doesn’t even realize he just spoke. Ushiwaka’s eyes keep flickering back and forth between Kuroo and Daichi, unsure as to who he should be concentrating on. There’s still a pickle in Bokuto’s hands that hasn’t moved any closer to his mouth since Daichi returned.

“Not as bad as Bokuto’s, but yeah, you did lose an entire stick of dango in your bed once,” Daichi reminds him. “Okay, number two. I- I give good hugs. At least, my siblings say I do. So, you know, if you’re in need of some comforting, I’m your guy!” When Kuroo just nods blankly at him, still too mesmerized to understand that he needs to be an active participant in this conversation as well, Daichi coughs and moves quickly on. “Um, number three. I already laugh at most of your jokes, which is probably like 30% more than the average person, so you know. You should probably lock this down because your stats aren’t going to get much better.”

A small ball of paper bounces off Kuroo’s hair, startling him into doing something other than staring mutely at Daichi’s face. It came from Suga’s direction.

“ _Ahem_ ,” Suga tries again, this time making meaningful eye contact with Kuroo, who shakes himself out of his stupor, finally grasping what’s happening right now. And Oikawa has only just realized that he and Daichi are _still holding hands_.

Daichi is starting to count off his fingers on his free hand as he tries to scrounge up more benefits. “Four, uh. My secret talent is making the vending machine give out an extra can, so if you like soft drinks-”

“I _love_...soft drinks,” Kuroo practically shouts now that his senses have returned. His fingers clench convulsively around Daichi’s. “You’re- they’re delicious and fizzy, so uh, let’s do this. Please date m- I mean, yes, I’d be happy to go out with you. You have very convincing reasons. A lot of strong points. Good job.”

“Thank you,” Daichi says automatically, before he really parses that Kuroo has given him an answer. “Oh, wait, seriously? Are we dating now?”

“Yes,” Kuroo replies quickly. “We very much are. It’s official. Congratulations.”

“Not the smoothest of confessions, but there you go. Mission accomplished,” Suga says to himself.

“Are you- do you work for an interview panel?” Ushiwaka asks Kuroo, obviously wondering why all his friends are the way that they are.

“No! This is just how I get when I haven’t finished processing yet!” Kuroo snaps at him, tugging Daichi forward. “A lot just happened in the last minute! The least I can do is be polite about it!”

Ushiwaka nods, as if that made any sense whatsoever, and says, “Oh, then congratulations from me as well. You’ll be very happy together. I say this because I assume your relationship will remain exactly the way it was before.”

“There might be more hugging?” Bokuto says. His pickle has ascended a few inches closer to his lips.

“More everything, probably, but that’s something you two can work out for yourselves.” Suga cheerfully approaches Kuroo’s chair and shoves at his shoulders until he stands, and then herds them away toward the door. “Good work, we’re very happy for you both; why don’t you go on ahead and we can meet you make at the apartment later. Take your first walk in the park together as boyfriends. Maybe even hold hands or something. Goodbye.” He keeps patting at their backs until they’re out of the cafe. And then he spins around and points triumphantly at Oikawa. “You dared to question my skills? How _naive_ , Oikawa-kun.”

“What the- how did you _do_ that? What did you say to him?” 

“I told you, didn’t I? I know Daichi better than anyone. Never doubt me again.”

“Witchcraft,” Oikawa spits. “You’re a witch; it’s the only explanation.”

“Maybe so,” Suga says with a laugh, and how Oikawa ever mistook him for a kind, energetic young man is a complete mystery. “Anyway, we couldn’t cure them of their problem, but at least now there’s a good reason for it. So where are we going next? Now that Daichi has chosen love over friendship and abandoned me-”

“That’s your own fault!”

“-you guys are in charge of entertaining me for the rest of the day!”

After that chipper declaration, Oikawa is sorely tempted to abandon him too, but Bokuto waves his hands brightly around and shouts, “Oh! Let’s do karaoke! I know a place.” Even Ushiwaka nods along.

“That sounds fun! I’ll be sure to defeat Oikawa-kun there as well.” Suga beams at him, then goes to help Ushijima clean off the table, already chattering away about the songs they’re going to sing.

Oikawa grits his teeth. No damn way is he going to lose to Suga again, in karaoke, or anything. Refreshing-kun is going down.


	10. music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "corvid and songbird:" a super late entry for kurodai week day 5 - music!
> 
> Just a quick, fluffy domestic fic! Hope you like it!

“Crack an egg in the bowl and mix it all up. Mix it all up ‘til the stuff is...blup.”

Kuroo’s singing voice isn’t bad, but it’s a bit rough around the edges and he isn’t self-conscious about the way it cracks when the notes get too high. Daichi finds it all the more endearing when he starts getting into it, shimmying on the downbeats and trying to project his voice like a would be pop star from a singing competition.

Mostly it’s Kuroo’s lyrics that are terrible.

“Oil in the pan, there’s oil in the pan. Heat is high so I’ll turn on the fan.”

Daichi, who’s flipping the fish over in the marinade, snorts out loud, but continues his work without acknowledging the sound.

“Hey, I heard that,” Kuroo says.

“You’re imagining things. Go back to singing.”

“Don’t gaslight me, Daichi!” He ditches his pan and spatula for a moment to try and loom over Daichi, but they end up smacking their faces together when Daichi tries to dodge in the wrong direction. “Ow, fuck.”

“Clumsy,” Daichi says fondly, rising up on his tiptoes to kiss the tender spot. He almost ends up with a mouthful of hair, but it’s worth it for the way Kuroo leans into it, giving him that crooked smile and wrapping his arms around Daichi’s waist. “Tell me more about your eggs.”

“The eggs are scrambled, the eggs are fine,” Kuroo sings. “If I cook the eggs right I can make you mine.”

“Okay,” Daichi laughs. “I’ll give you a chance to try it.”

\--

With the spring rains comes house cleaning season, so Daichi is on his knees scrubbing the bathroom floor tiles when Kuroo comes sliding into view, wearing a kerchief over his hair and pink rubber gloves.

“Hello there, darling,” he croons, sweeping the mop into his hands and pointing it at Daichi like a microphone stand. “What a shock to meet you here. I never thought there would ever be, a way for you and I to see...each other.” The last notes fall to an abrupt end as Kuroo runs out of words.

“Oh? Why not?” Daichi asks, taking the sponge out the bucket and starting in on another spot. The bright scent of lemon soap fills the room, adding a note of cheer to the tiny space, with its slate gray walls and mismatched bath towels. With the unexpected grace that he always carries even off court, Kuroo steps carefully over him to begin cleaning the shower walls.

“The usual. You were...an old flame, who made it big as an actor, and I- I was-”

“The high school sweetheart I left behind in our small town?”

“And one day you come back to find me still working at the local…”

“Post office.”

“Post office,” Kuroo agrees. “And I’m still as handsome as ever and you’ve never forgotten me. And now I get to sing my introductory song.”

He starts humming a tune, and waving his rag around in the air in imitation of a conductor leading an orchestra. Daichi smiles.

“Do we get back together at the end of act two?”

“No, there’s a mail related emergency that stops me from running to meet you at the airport. You wait as long as you can, but the paparazzi chase you into your jet, and you fly off. Did you get my letter,” Kuroo sings, wistfully staring at the shower head for a beat before wiping it clean. “I didn’t want to part. The only stamp that matters now...is the one you left on my heart.” He brushes his hand against the faucet with a sigh.

“A sad ending? That’s too bad. I was rooting for us.”

“Then you’ll like the one where you work in a flower shop and I work at the rival party goods store across the street, and we sing a lot of duets about our hidden love affair. We merge the shops at the end of the musical when we realize we don’t have to compete.”

“A modern day Romeo and Juliet,” Daichi says. “No one dies in this version, right?”

“Only some of your bouquets.”

He climbs back down to help Daichi dry the floor, playing up the charm as he sings, “Buy every flower, throw out the balloons. Wrap me in streamers, ‘cause I’m your...what rhymes with balloon?”

“Buffoon?”

“No!” Kuroo yelps through a laugh, falling backwards onto his bottom when Daichi reaches over to swipe at his ankles with his still damp hands. “Don’t ruin my song!”

“You asked for help!” Daichi exclaims. Kuroo kicks gently at his hands, so he has to crawl up and rest his weight against Kuroo’s legs to hold him in place. “It’s your own fault,” he says while resting his chin on Kuroo’s knees.

“I guess so. I can’t trust you with anything, can I?”

“Your heart?”

“Oh my god, how can people say _I’m_ the cheesy one when you stay stuff like that?”

“I’m not the one who always sings love songs while combing my hair. And while jogging. And in the shower.”

“Well, I guess I just think about you a lot during those times,” Kuroo says with an overdone wink, and Daichi has to shut him up with a kiss so he doesn’t do anything worse with his face.

\--

Sometimes Kuroo’s songs are just their grocery list.

“Chicken thighs, carrots, onions and salt. I can’t believe we need to buy salt. There was so much salt. In our house. ‘Til Bokuto came to visit, that louse...”

“Tetsu, you’re getting loud.” Kuroo is slowly increasing in volume as he examines the onions for the roundest one he can find because he likes how they look.

“Sorry,” Kuroo replies absently. He holds his palms flat like the two pans of a scale, and balances an onion on each. “Just thinking about onions.” Daichi decides to save him the trouble of deciding and plucks them both out of his hands to place them in the cart.

And at other times, Kuroo sings when they’re waiting for something, like in the checkout line or at the bus stop. Bus stop songs are usually about people they see in passing cars, or some chore they forgot to do at home. Weather songs are complaints disguised as jingles. Laundry songs are narrative ballads about whatever commercial is on TV while Kuroo is folding their pants.

But Daichi’s favorite songs are the ones Kuroo sings half to himself, half to Daichi when he’s already in bed waiting for Daichi to return home from work. He pliantly rolls over when Daichi climbs in, always a bit sleepy from dozing off lightly as he waits.

“Hi, Tetsurou,” Daichi whispers, pulling the covers up higher around them. He wraps his arm around Kuroo’s back and slides in close enough to drink in all his heat. It’s not quite winter yet, but Kuroo gets chilly easily, and likes to surround himself with as much warmth as possible, which Daichi is enthusiastic about helping with.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Kuroo says, blinking himself awake enough to sing quietly, “I missed you once, I missed you twice, but you’re here now; it’s just as nice.”

“I missed you too, but I’m back now. No more late nights this week, I promise.”

“Awesome.” Kuroo drops a kiss on Daichi’s forehead, and flops back down between his pillows, already drifting back to sleep. “G’night, Daichi.”

Daichi rearranges the pillows so they press against Kuroo’s face the way he likes, and settles into his own spot, content with watching Kuroo for another minutes before closing his own tired eyes.

“Goodnight, Tetsu. See you in the morning.”


	11. singers au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super late entry for kd week day 6! This is inspired by [Spring_Emerald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spring_Emerald)'s cute Idol AU (but is vastly stupider, please forgive me)! There's some vague other captains/Daichi and also I don't know anything about the music industry, so I'm sorry about that too. But I hope you like it!

The worst part is, it’s not even like Daichi has any excuse for his slip-up. He’s not new to interviews, to the fluff filled talk shows and the silly games they make guests play, or the teasing questions that the hosts never expect real answers to. He’ll later blame it on his insomnia and the pressure from their upcoming tour, but in the end, it’s because he wasn’t paying enough attention. That’s too embarrassing to admit, but there’s really nothing about this situation that isn’t embarrassing at this point.

It begins on the soft, cream-colored sofa of Shirofuku Yukie’s talk show set, with him squeezed into the end of the row next to Suga, who’s dazzling their host with a cute story about a trip they all took after their recording session was done. They cut to commercial, and when they’re back, it’s time for some more lighthearted questions before they promote their new album.

“So, you know we have to ask, but who’s your celebrity crush?” Shirofuku asks, smiling at them from her cushiony chair.

“You know it’s you, Yukie-san,” Noya says, beaming at her, and she laughs before leaning forward.

“There’s a reason the fans think you’re the charmer of the group, Noya-san. But really, your fans want to know: who’s your ideal type?”

“Oh, well, then it’s our manager Kiyoko-san, of course.”

“Ah, you’re the constant kind of man,” Shirofuku says knowingly, and the audience laughs. Noya’s longstanding and hopeless crush on Kiyoko is well-documented, especially during their behind the scenes videos, where she always flatly denies him before walking off to go do her job. “And what about you, Tanaka-san? If I remember correctly, you were a big fan of your manager as well.”

“Kiyoko-san is still an angel, but uh, I guess I’d have to say that my ideal type is Kanoka,” Tanaka says, scratching his cheek with a faint flush spreading across his face.

Shirofuku and most of her audience gasp. “Amanai Kanoka from The Queens? That’s right, you were rumored to be childhood friends!”

Daichi can’t help but zone out a bit as their host tries to wheedle more details out of Tanaka, more concerned with the minor issues in the second half of their setlist than Shirofuku’s questions. Their first concert is in a month, and although he knows it’ll be okay he still can’t help worrying over the little things even after years in the business.

The conversation turns to Asahi, who denies any rumors of having a secret baby and a wife who lives overseas (and how Asahi always ends up with the weirdest gossip, Daichi doesn’t know). Daichi continues making a mental checklist of what they should run at the beginning of practice tomorrow, knowing they won’t get to him for a bit, since there's still Suga. Hopefully they’ll gloss over him completely; even though he’s the leader, Daichi knows his place in the group is as the cool-headed drummer. Their more dedicated fans are aware that he’s always not as put together as he seems, but they also know he really doesn’t have much going on in the romantic realm, so they don’t speculate or care much.

He gets so caught up in working out the pacing problem in “Warfront” that he barely realizes Suga’s story about his tragic crush on a senpai in college he used to play piano for is over, and that Shirofuku has moved on to him. She’s asking him probably the same question, but he only catches the tail end of it.

His favorite celebrity or something? He suddenly can’t even remember any celebrities, or other musicians even, because he’s so stuck on why exactly that one song feels so damn fast when he knows it isn’t. With no time to think, Daichi tries to think of the first famous person he knows, coming up with the face of that handsome idol who ran into Flightless when they were at the recording studio the other day. They’ve met quite a few times before, what with being from the same entertainment company and all, but Daichi is only friendly acquaintances with him at most. After all, his popularity is on a whole other level, one that Flightless can only dream of achieving; he probably doesn’t even really remember who Daichi is. Nice enough guy, though kind of devious and kind of a weirdo, which is what Daichi likes about him in the first place. What was the name of his group?

“Hm? Oh, Limit Switch,” Daichi answers, hoping it isn’t obvious how distracted he was. Part of the issue, he realizes, is that “Warfront” comes right after “The Promised Place,” which makes it feel much faster than it really is. They should maybe switch it with “Illusory Hero” to make the change in pace less dramatic.

It takes him a second to realize that literally everyone in the studio has fallen silent and is staring at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Um, I’m sorry, Daichi-san, but did you say Limit Switch? As in the idol group?” Shirofuku is giving him an odd smile, genuine but slightly hesitant.

“Yes?” he tries, smiling awkwardly back. What was the question again?

“Oh! Um, okay!” Shirofuku says at the same time that Suga elbows Daichi hard in the side, looking like he’s about to lose his mind. “Do you mind telling us who it is, or is it a secret?”

Who what is? Huh? Daichi has to take a moment to rewind the conversation in his head, during which Tanaka whirls on him, surprise written all over his face.

“Daichi-san! You never told us you liked one of those pretty boy idols!” The audience breaks out into fervent murmurs.

“Wait, I like who?” Daichi asks, now totally lost. Shit, what did he just _say_?

“One of the most successful male pop idols in the country, apparently,” Suga says with a sugar-and-venom smile. “But which one is a secret!” he tells Shirofuku with a wink. “Daichi hasn’t even told us yet!”

“Well, I’m sure your fans are thrilled enough just to find out a little more about you, Daichi-san! Though this just adds to your reputation as the band’s cool and mysterious leader!” 

Suga and Asahi run damage control as best they can afterwards, helping to turn the topic back to their new album, but in some ways, it’s too late. Daichi’s already single-handedly ensured that there’s something else at the forefront of everyone’s minds, whether he likes it or not.

\--

It’s all over the gossip rags by the next morning.

_Sawamura Daichi from Flightless pining after one of Japan’s top idols?!_

_Has one of the Limit Switch members been hiding a secret affair all this time?!_

_Just who is it that Flightless’ Daichi has his eyes on? Find out our guess inside!_

“Okay,” Daichi says, looking at the next magazine Noya adds to the stack. “So, um, this became way more of an event than expected. But it’s salvageable, right? I just need to go back on TV and explain it was all a mistake.”

“No, Daichi,” Asahi says as he flicks on the television in his and Noya’s apartment. The whole band decided yesterday that it would be better to just hole up together until hopefully the media storm passed. “I think it’s too late for that.”

Almost every news station is talking about it, splashed with pictures of them from their concerts alongside professional grade images from photoshoots of a bunch of good-looking men that Daichi could recognize just from cultural saturation, even if he didn’t already vaguely know them from work. As for the internet...Daichi doesn’t even dare look, for fear of what he might find. Online reactions are always a whole different level of intensity.

“This is the most media attention we’ve ever gotten,” Suga says. He’s still in pajamas, drinking a literal bowl of coffee, because they should be practicing, but they’re too scared to go out into public right now. Like Suga says, they’re far from unknown, but they’re also not the kind of band that really shows up in the news much because their image just isn’t that attention grabbing. “I’ve got to say, Daichi, you’ve really gone and done it, and yet...I can’t even get mad at you. This is all just so surreal.” He shakes his head and takes another long sip of coffee.

On the television, the news anchor peppily announces the next segment. “Now, for the much anticipated response to the news that shook the entertainment world yesterday! Stay tuned for Limit Switch’s reaction, coming up right after the break!”

“Shit, they know,” Tanaka says, perched on the back of the couch with his hands fisted in the cushions for support. “Limit Switch _knows_.”

“Oh, god,” Daichi mutters, putting his head down to rest it against the top of the coffee table. Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut? Why did he think about _this_ boy band of all people? Why did his traitorous brain have to think about _him_ , when he could have just as easily mentioned one of his juniors, or Michimiya, or someone safe?

In the background, Nishinoya and Asahi’s landline rings again, for the fiftieth time. They’ve just been letting everything go to voicemail, even on their cell phones, though Daichi is pretty sure it’s either a family member, upper management, or one of their kouhai from Concrete Flower calling in to demand answers. They ignore this one too, because the jingle signifies the ads are over and they’re about to find out just how bad things really are.

The scene opens on a nervous looking brunet leaving his dressing room with a water bottle in hand.

“Oh, it’s just Moniwa-kun,” Daichi says with relief. He’s had lunch with Moniwa a few times, and he’s always enjoyed the other man’s company. Daichi’s always found him really nice and down-to-earth for an idol.

“So, Kaname, which of the members do you think it is that Sawamura-san is interested in?” the staff member holding the microphone asks. He looks vaguely familiar - someone’s manager, perhaps.

“Aw, jeez, I don’t know, it seems like we shouldn’t be taking guesses about it. I don’t think it’s me, though. Uh, not to say I wouldn’t be flattered if it were me! Sawamura-kun’s a really nice guy, and he’s really passionate about his music, which I’ve always admired. And when he’s on stage-” Moniwa is starting to grow flustered, and waves his hand in front of the camera. “Sorry, that’s- um, that’s all I have to say; why don’t you go check in with Tooru or somebody else?”

“Huh,” Suga says. The interviewer is chatting to the audience about Limit Switch’s rehearsal schedule as he walks down the hallway. “That was interesting.”

“This is going to sound rude, but uh- I guess I didn’t realize you guys were so close, Daichi,” Asahi says, and the others throw in their agreement.

“I mean, I’d say we’re friends? He’s a good guy; he’s probably just making me sound better than I am so that it’s less awkward.”

On screen, the interviewer meets two other members in the dressing room, one sitting patiently lacing up his shoes, and the other lounging against the chair waiting for him.

“Tooru! Shinsuke-san! I was hoping to to get your opinion on who you think Sawamura-san likes?”

Oikawa Tooru – heartthrob of millions across the world, award-winning dancer and vocalist, and general nuisance – smiles at the camera and says, “Well, I wouldn’t turn down Sawamura-kun if he asked. If I’m being honest, everyone in Flightless is a catch, but I’ve always gotten on well with him in particular, and he’s easy on the eyes, for sure. Especially those legs. And arms. I think Shin-chan might be more his type, though.”

The camera pans back to Kita, who looks up from his shoes. “Sawamura-san is fairly ideal for a partner. Hardworking, patient, reliable. A good sense of humor. Pleasant demeanor. I probably wouldn’t say no either, though I think he might be looking for someone a bit more lively.”

The staff thanks them and the crew go out roaming the halls again for another member to interview.

Noya finally takes a seat on the floor, and turns to give Daichi a dazzled look. “Holy crap, Daichi-san, did you like pay them off or something? I didn’t know Oikawa even knew who we were!”

“I didn’t either,” Daichi tells him, more than a bit flabbergasted. Sure, their groups are friendly and acquainted with each other, but enough that this many members are willing to comment kindly on Daichi’s behalf? In the background, the phone rings again.

Suga squints at the screen, before crawling down to join Noya on the floor. “Maybe he’s just a really good actor. Though it doesn’t feel like he’s lying. Kita, either. You might actually have a chance with one of them, Daichi.”

“Hush, you.”

Bokuto is the next one the camera crew comes upon. He’s practicing his moves in the dance studio, but bounds right up when he sees the crew.

“Ooh, Sawamura? I love that guy! I’d totally date him, you know. He’s cool, and smart, and his songs are really catchy, but I don’t think it’s me he likes! Too bad.”

“Wow, maybe you should just date Bokuto,” Asahi says. He dodges when Daichi chucks a throw pillow at him. “I’m serious! You’d have fun, at least, right?”

“Bokuto’s nice, but I didn’t go into this intending to actually _date_ one of them! I don’t even know why I mentioned them!”

“You should ask Ushiwaka! Ushiiiii!” Bokuto yells across the floor at Ushijima doing stretches, who turns upon hearing his voice and approaches the camera.

“Were there always this many of them?” Daichi asks, and Suga pinches his knee.

“Sawamura Daichi? He isn’t flashy, but he’s an outstanding drummer and very dedicated to his craft,” Ushijima says, somehow managing to stare Daichi in the eyes through the TV screen as he speaks. “I don’t believe that I’m anywhere on his radar, but I’ve thought before that it would be a valuable endeavor to collaborate with Flightless, if Sawamura wanted to reach out to us for reasons other than romantic ones.” He turns away to return to his stretches, then looks back to add, “Though, romantic reasons would be acceptable also.”

Suga and Tanaka make simultaneous shrieky noises. “Holy shit, Ushijima Wakatoshi basically just told all of Japan that he would sleep with you,” Suga screeches and Daichi shakes his head vehemently.

“No, he’s just playing his part for the fans. Ushiwaka’s not that kind of guy.”

“Yuuji-kun is feeling under the weather today, so we won’t bother him,” the interviewer says as he leaves the dance studio and makes his way toward the kitchen. “I’m sure he’ll chime in on social media soon enough anyway. Which just leaves Kuro! Let’s go find him.”

Crap, Daichi was hoping they would just wrap up the segment here. He doesn’t know what he would do if he heard Kuroo spouting the same kind of nonsense the others just did.

It’s not that he actually has a crush on Kuroo, but Kuroo _is_ the reason he’s in this mess in the first place. Daichi doesn’t know why he came to mind. Maybe it’s just because he’s eye-catching and hard to forget. Or perhaps it’s because they spoke to each other recently, cracking jokes at each others’ expense while waiting for the ridiculously slow elevator. They’ve haven’t spent much time together one-on-one professionally, there never having been a reason to, but every time they’ve met Kuroo has always been easy to strike up a conversation with, ready and willing with a quip whenever they pass each other in the company hallways. They might be something akin to friends, if Daichi’s being optimistic.

Kuroo just feels like a real celebrity, Daichi supposes, which must be why he thought about him on that talk show the other day. That’s the only reason.

“What’s with your expression?” Suga starts asking him, but the interviewer has finally arrived at his destination. Kuroo is busy cooking a pot of noodles when they enter the kitchen, but he gives a genial little wave and beckons them over to the stove. He’s dressed in loose clothes, ready to go practice a dance routine, but he still looks way too handsome despite the casual clothing. It’s pretty unfair.

“Kuro! I’m sure you’ve heard about the interview Shirofuku Yukie had with Flightless yesterday. Do you have any guesses as to who Sawamura-san has been harboring feelings for?”

Kuroo takes a second to think, putting his chopsticks down to tap his chin thoughtfully, before leaning in toward the camera.

“Well, it’d have to be me, wouldn’t it?” he says right into the microphone with a grin. Suga drops his empty bowl, luckily onto the plush carpet under the table. Daichi finds that he’s suddenly clutching Asahi’s hand for support, though he has no memory of reaching out. His heart is doing something strange in his chest cavity. He shouldn’t have swiped so much of Suga’s coffee earlier this morning.

Noya laughs, impressed by the moxie. “That’s pretty confident!”

The interviewer seems to agree with Noya; a surprised sort of interest lights up his face, and he quickly asks, “You’re the first of the members to guess yourself, Kuro! Any reasons as to why?”

“Ikejiri, I’m sure you and our fans know that Sawamura-san and I are part of the same company. All of our members are acquainted with one another, of course, but Sawamura-san and myself have always had a casual flirtation. Perhaps it’s bloomed into something more.” Kuroo smirks at the screen, then leans coolly against the countertop, but the stove sparks and the pot spits a few drops of hot soup at him. He scrambles to get his lunch back under control.

“Oh my god, seriously?” Suga grabs Daichi’s ankle and begins shaking him. “You’ve been _flirting_ with Kuroo Tetsurou and you never told us?!”

“No! We just chat when we see each other! It’s nothing!” So what if he goes out of his way to make Kuroo laugh, and takes a guilty enjoyment out of the stolen moments of his undivided attention? It’s just the thrall of a Cinderella story fantasy taking hold once in a while. Truthfully, they barely even know each other.

Ikejiri helps Kuroo hold his chopsticks so he can swirl his ladle around, and Daichi would find it charming if he weren’t so frazzled by how this situation is playing out. “So are you telling us there’s really something going on between you? It’s unusual for you to be so candid about your relationships,” Ikejiri asks, trying to juggle both the chopsticks and microphone in his hand. The camera zooms in on Kuroo’s lunch.

“Ah, well, now it’d be embarrassing if he wasn’t referring to me,” Kuroo says sheepishly as he tries to break up a clump of noodles. “But I don’t think any of the other members have what I have with him. Should I just leave it at that to make it sound extra salacious?” he asks with a laugh, and Ikejiri protests on behalf of curious fans. “No, it’s nothing like that. We talk whenever we happen upon each other at work. He bought me a coffee once. Most of our meetings happen in the elevator and it’s not totally awkward - must be true love, right? But seriously, I think there’s just always been a spark between us. You know, the kind that you only feel with a certain person, no matter how many times you see them?”

Asahi, whose hand is being crushed to bone dust by Daichi’s grip, looks skeptically between him and the TV. “Are you absolutely, a thousand percent sure you haven’t been flirting with Kuroo? Maybe your subconscious made you mention Limit Switch for a reason.”

Daichi feels his face growing hot. Meanwhile, his heart continues spinning faster than an electric fan. It feels like he’s going through a heat stroke. Or menopause. “I- I didn’t think so? I just like talking to him! Why would I flirt with someone out of my league knowing it’ll never go anywhere?”

“You’re not out of anyone’s league, Daichi-san!” Tanaka’s loyalty is unmatched, but Suga shakes his head disapprovingly.

“Daichi, sometimes people just flirt for fun, even if they don’t really mean it. And whatever you’ve been doing has made an impression on Kuroo.”

“But- I’m not trying to lead him on or anything! We’ve just been- I dunno, having fun? He has a nice smile. I like seeing it.” Suga doesn’t even say anything this time. He just gives Daichi a disappointed, pitying shake of the head.

“Anyway, that’s the relationship I currently have with him.” Kuroo steps back to turn off the stove fan and his expression softens. “At least, I hope it is. Sawamura-san and I saw each other at the studio the other day, and I’d like to think I’m not the only one who feels like there’s something unexplored there.”

“Wow,” Ikejiri says as he hands Kuroo some potholders emblazoned with the group logo. “You know I don’t play favorites-”

“Of course you don’t.” Kuroo grins at the cameraman while noticeably shaking his head, and Ikejiri swats at him.

“-but I think I might just be rooting for you, Kuro. Since you’ve been so surprisingly heartfelt today, I’ll tell you that the other members each expressed some interest in Sawamura-san too.”

Kuroo narrows his eyes. “All of them? It figures. Thanks for telling me, Ikejiri. You know I love all the guys, but I’m not losing to them here. Do you mind if I?” He gestures at the microphone.

“Oh! Not at all. Here you go,” Ikejiri responds, handing it over.

With one hand, Kuroo pushes the hair out of his eyes rakishly, and directs his words at the camera.

“If you’re watching this, call me. Or, have your people call my people. Actually, _I’ll_ just call _you_ ; I can’t risk having you swept off your feet by one of the other guys before me. Got it, Sawamura? Bo might be cute, and Tooru’s all sparkly and smooth or whatever, but don’t go falling for them. I’m the one meant for you.”

With that, he winks at the camera and saunters away with his pot of noodles. It’s kind of a dumb looking exit, but maybe that’s why it’s cute. Oh god. Now Daichi’s starting to think of Kuroo as _cute_ \- he’s in trouble, isn’t he?

Ikejiri retrieves the microphone and clears his throat. “Well, uh, I guess that- hm, I was going to say it cleared things up, but honestly, I’m not sure. You know how the boys can be,” he says dryly, addressing Limit Switch’s legion of fans. “I hope this doesn’t cause too much trouble for Sawamura-san and his band, but they’re welcome to visit us any time. That’s all from us here at Switch TV! Please follow us on social media for further updates!”

The segment finally transitions back to the regular news, which turns over to the weather and some local happenings. Asahi turns the volume way down in time for the room to explode into noise.

“Holy shit I cannot believe you’re dating _every single member_ of Limit Switch-”

“Daichi-san, are you like a siren or something?”

“You know there’s no one I respect more than you, Daichi-san, but I never realized that you were like...so smooth...”

“I can’t believe you, of all people, got caught up in this, Daichi-”

“I didn’t do anything!” Daichi has to yell in his own defense. “Not to them, at least! If anything, this is Kuroo’s fault-”

“And why is that?” Asahi asks, with a knowing look on his face. Annoying.

“If it weren’t for his stupid idol haircut and dumb face, I wouldn’t have been thinking about him in the first place!”

A misstep. The sharks catch on immediately.

“So he _is_ the one!” Suga accuses. “He’s the guy you were thinking about at the interview! He’s your _celebrity crush_.”

Daichi falters. “He’s not my- he’s just a celebrity that I know! That you guys know too! The first one I thought of! His face just appeared in my head; I wasn’t just sitting around like daydreaming about him or anything-”

“But why’d you think of him before anyone else, Daichi-san?” Noya asks.

“You _like_ his dumb face, that’s why! You bought him a coffee!”

“I mean, it’s a nice face,” Daichi says because he’s not smart. The noise starts again.

In the midst of all this incomprehensible shouting, a soft jingling catches Daichi’s attention. It’s coming from his cell phone, which Ukai-san stopped calling about thirty minutes ago in favor of bombarding Asahi’s landline with yelling.

Daichi leans toward the coffee table where he left it, and flushes all the way down to his neck when he sees who it is.

Unfortunately, he’s not the only one to have noticed.

“It’s him!” Tanaka bellows, leaping off the couch and almost taking Noya out in the process. “He’s calling you like he said he would!”

“Oh my god, it’s really happening. Are you going to pick up? _Should_ you pick up?” Asahi asks anxiously. Suga decides to take charge and shoves the phone into Daichi’s hand.

“We need to talk later about why you have each other’s phone numbers already, but for now, you’ve gotta take this.”

“I do, don’t I?” Daichi swallows, more than a little overwhelmed by everything ever, but he digs down deep for the resolve to meet the consequences of his own stupid actions head on. “Okay. I’m- I’m going now. Can I borrow your room?” he asks Noya, who flashes a thumbs-up.

After hurrying off to sequester himself, he finally answers, probably right before the last possible ring.

“Yes, hello, this is Sawamura,” he stammers out, his breath trapped in his throat.

“Sawamura-san,” says that voice that’s currently configured to give Daichi weird chest cramps. “It’s Kuroo, from Limit Switch.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Daichi replies foolishly. “And you know who I am.”

“I do,” Kuroo laughs. “How’s your sister’s pet rabbit doing?” It’s a continuation of the last conversation they had before this nonsense that Daichi started.

“It likes the new pet food better now, so it’s back to regular rabbit business, as far as I know. Um. I saw your response video. It was on the news.” Daichi sounds so stilted; what’s wrong with him today?

“Ah, so you know why I’m calling.”

“Presumably?” And now his voice is squeaking. Great.

Kuroo laughs again, and says, “Well, before I get into that, I have to ask. You know, to save my pride before I throw myself into this: was it me?”

Daichi should answer honestly, he really should, but instinct tells him to evade and lead into their usual foxtrot of back-and-forth. “My lawyer instructed me not to tell anyone anything.”

“Oh, there’s lawyers involved now too? You’re not going to bring one along on our date, are you?”

“Who says there’s going to be a date?”

“You’re telling me you don’t want to go on a date with your celebrity crush?”

“First of all, I don’t have a celebrity crush. And second of all, I would never date someone who doesn’t know how to make instant noodles.”

“My noodles were fine!” Kuroo protests. “Maybe the camera made them look weird.”

Daichi can feel himself smiling – and he suddenly has to think, gosh, maybe he has been flirting – and he responds, dryly as he can, “That’s not how cameras work, but okay. I’ll let it slide.”

“No, you’ve insulted my dignity now. I demand the opportunity to prove you wrong. Meet me at the fifth floor staff kitchen sometime and I’ll show you my noodles are the best there are.”

“You’re going to cook me instant ramen for our first date?” Daichi asks, because he’s doing this, apparently. He’s taking a chance on a date with his not-crush.

He must catch Kuroo off guard too, because he makes a strange croaking noise before saying, “U-uh, yeah, I guess I am! Unless you want to do something more fun, but I figured this would be safe and private? And I mean, look, if I’m really not the guy- if you don’t want to go on a date with me, please don’t feel pressured to. I know this is a huge media storm for you right now, but I really do like you, and I completely get it if you turn me down.”

He sounds as earnest as he did when he almost closed the elevator door on Daichi a few months ago, and stuck his own arm into the closing space to halt it. That’s what Daichi likes about him, more so than his face, as nice as it may be.

“No, it’s- ugh, I can’t believe this is happening, but it’s you. That I was thinking of. And what you said, about the spark...I think I feel it too. So let’s do noodles. And I’ll buy you another coffee, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

“Okay! That sounds awesome. Why don’t you let me know when things have died down for you, and we’ll find a time to meet.” Kuroo lets out a little laugh, and Daichi can hear some voices getting louder in the background. “Sorry, the guys are calling me for rehearsal, but good luck to you and the band! I’ll see you next time?”

“Yeah, at our usual elevator,” Daichi promises.

After hanging up, he remains seated on Noya’s floor for another couple of minutes, not yet ready to go out and face the music, as it were. This is the most impulsive thing he’s done in a long time, and yet, there’s something right about it, like the perfect chord to start a refrain.

It’ll be okay, he tells himself, counting down ten more seconds before he has to go talk to his bandmates.

And if it doesn’t work out, at least he can write a song about it.


	12. injured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late entry for kurodai weekend day 1: injured, under the ridiculous name "triple berry mango twist sundae supreme". This is...a weird AU disguised as a different weird AU. It's only really a sketch of a world, so I may not have many answers if you have any questions, haha. Warnings for blood and injury!

He comes in every Thursday night around ten, staying until Daichi tells him they're closing shop. There isn't a particular table he favors, nor does he always order the same thing off the menu. In fact, it seems like he might be systematically trying a new item each time. Daichi doesn't even know his name, but there's no way he could forget that hair or that face, so every Thursday, he stops by with broom in hand and places the menu at the corner of the table, away from all the scattered books and papers covered in complicated sketches and letters in a language that Daichi can’t read.

Like always, his patron gives him a charming but tired smile, asking, “Any specials today?”

And, like always, Daichi rattles them off from memory while leaning on his broom. He stumbled around the first few times, apologizing for cleaning so early, because other than his regular, the shop gets dead around this hour on the weekdays, with the nearby college students preferring to frequent bars or cafes. But he was assured over and over that it was fine if he wanted to continue his closing duties, so that’s what he does now: cleans the front of house while Asahi or Ennoshita scrubs down dishes in the back as his night owl regular slowly eats his fruit and ice cream and pores over his dusty old books.

“So, what do you think,” Daichi asks. “The kiwi and berry medley is pretty good, though I know a lot of people have been trying papaya this month.”

“Well, a lot of people can’t all be wrong, can they? I’ll go with papaya,” the customer says, handing Daichi his stamp card. Daichi, used to this routine, already has his stamp ready, and presses a bluebird into the penultimate spot on the card before handing it back.

“Just one more before a reward! You should use it on the rainbow supreme; it’s ridiculously expensive.”

“Yeah? Will you make it extra special for me?” This is accompanied with a lazy grin, though with the bags under his eyes and the sluggish movements of his hands, Daichi thinks his mannerisms are driven more by exhaustion than a flirtatious nature, but it’s hard to tell.

“I’ll give you a bonus strawberry,” he says dryly, taking the menu back. “You sure you don’t want a coffee too?”

“No, no caffeine for me. Thanks though.”

Daichi makes the sundae himself, so as not to interrupt Ennoshita wiping down all the fridges in the back. As usual, his regular is scribbling notes and drawing weird shapes when Daichi brings out his order. He puts the bowl on a clear spot where it won’t drip on any of the papers, alongside the bill, and returns to the front counter to continue his closing chores. Clearing the display case, updating the daily specials board for tomorrow, wiping out the front sink and taking the remaining dishes out back.

By the time he's ready to count their tips for the day around a quarter to eleven, his regular has begun packing up, his sundae long since finished. Maybe because it's earlier than usual Daichi freezes in place with his fistful of yen and finally does what he's been meaning to for a couple of weeks.

“Hey,” he says, before he can chicken out.

The boy pauses at his table, arms still full of all his books that he’s cramming back into his backpack. “What’s up? Sorry, did I forget something?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I, uh, just wanted to ask what your name was. I mean, we see each other every week- I should know that much by now, right?” Daichi says, before realizing how he might be pressuring the other boy against his will. “Unless you don’t want to tell me! That’s totally fine, I’m sorry if I’m overstepping any-”

“It’s cool, dude. Kuroo Tetsurou. Call me Kuroo,” he says, pointing to himself. “And you’re Daichi, obviously, unless your nametag and all your coworkers are lying.”

“Uh, nope, that’s me. Daichi. So, um, thanks! Guess I’ll see you next week, unless I’ve totally creeped you out!” 

Kuroo snickers as he zips up his bag, before dropping his money on his bill. “Like I said, it’s cool. I’ll catch you next Thursday, Daichi.”

As he walks - or saunters, really - out the door, Daichi hallucinates a sudden flicker of movement in Kuroo’s hair that has nothing to do with the slight wind outdoors. It’s almost like the twitching of cat ears, though of course that makes no sense. He must still be tired from class this morning.

\--

Now that Daichi knows Kuroo's name, he begins to find out other little details about him because he’s just the right amount of talkative. He can work peacefully alone when Daichi’s busy just as easily as he can strike up a light-hearted conversation about nonsense when there’s nothing to do but wipe the counters for the ten millionth time.

Kuroo attends a different uni than Daichi does; his is a few blocks away, but Kuroo prefers walking out to this dessert shop because it's "always clean and the music is inoffensive. and the waitstaff is pretty cute," in his words. Daichi isn't going to argue against anything that brings them more business, so he scoffs gently and waves off Kuroo's light flirting in favor of teasing him about the way he picks at his ice cream. After watching for several weeks now he’s noticed that Kuroo carves around the outside of his sundae, piling a few choice pieces of fruit on top of his spoon and spiraling inward until he's left with a round mound of ice cream. He always licks the bowl clean afterward, like some sort of wild animal, which Daichi has heckled him endlessly about. 

Although Kuroo is a chemistry student, the only thing he ever seems to be studying when he’s at the shop is that language Daichi doesn’t know. Kuroo’s told him vaguely before that all his books and notes are for a linguistics class, but deftly dodges whenever Daichi tries to ask _which_ language in particular he’s reading. Instead, he tricks Daichi into talking about their favorite books, or volleyball, or stupid things their friends have done while drunk. 

They end up chatting enough that Asahi makes an off-handed comment about it one day and Daichi is forced to elbow him in the side until he promises not to mention anything to meddling silver-haired best friends they have in common who will most certainly misinterpret the situation.

So what if he’s making friends with one of their regulars? That’s totally normal. It’s not like anything weird is going to come of it.

\--

Around the end of November business declines dramatically, and by the time the first snow of the year arrives, the store is empty by six p.m. On this Thursday he winds up working alone when Asahi gets hit with a nasty case of strep, stranding him in his apartment to wither away with nothing to eat but Noya's weird chicken soup. Daichi would normally try to call someone in to take Asahi’s place, but considering how many uninterrupted hours he already spends around this time of year staring out the windows while wiping the dust off the same faroff light fixtures over and over again, it would be pointless, so he goes it alone. His store manager has already told him he can wrap up early if it remains as slow as it did this afternoon, but Daichi’s reluctant to leave before eleven tonight.

It would be a lie to say he isn't looking forward to ten o’clock because just maybe that’s when his favorite customer comes in. He could never say this aloud, of course, because surely Suga would find out, and surely it would ruin his life, so he only gives himself away to the bowls of fruit in the back, the sole audience to his cheerful humming as he cleans up early in anticipation of a slow night. And as expected, only three customers pass in and out of the shop before Kuroo’s arrival at his usual time.

Tonight Kuroo enters with a flourish, bowing deeply when he greets Daichi.

“Guess who may have just aced his math final for the semester.”

Daichi leans his elbows on the counter, already holding out a menu. “My friend Tanaka, hopefully. Because otherwise his GPA will be in major trouble.”

Kuroo starts, skittering to a stop. “What? No! I mean, maybe, I guess?” When Daichi just laughs at him, he snatches the menu from his hands. “I studied really hard, you know. Lots of sleepless nights spent cramming. But the semester’s almost over; I’m almost free,” Kuroo says, a feverish shine in his eyes and desperation in his voice.

“Almost there! Get a sundae to celebrate.”

“You know, I think I will,” Kuroo says decisively, as if he wouldn’t be gorging himself on ice cream either way. He bends so that he can take a peek around Daichi into the back room. “Who’s with you today? Chikara? Asahi?”

“Oh, I’m running the show alone tonight.”

“Alone? Isn’t that illegal?” Kuroo asks with a raised eyebrow, and Daichi laughs again.

“Kind of, so don’t tell on us, okay? But Asahi’s really sick, and I’m not gonna call anyone in to work just a few hours. Besides, you’re my only customer at this time anyway. I’ll just close up shop once you’re done.”

At this, Kuroo presses the menu back into Daichi’s hands. “Hey, no, don’t let me keep you. Close up now; I’ll come back next week, after I know for sure if I passed.”

A tiny lump of disappointment settles in Daichi’s stomach, which is just the silliest thing, because who wouldn’t want to leave work early if they could? “Are you sure? I don’t want to kick you out.”

“Yeah, it’s fine! I’ll study somewhere else. I probably shouldn’t eat so much ice cream anyway,” Kuroo says sheepishly, running a hand through his hair and disrupting it even further.

Daichi also feels bad about chasing him away, so he hands Kuroo his broom with a hurried, “Wait here a sec.” He ducks back behind the counter and loads up a to-go cup full of all the precut fruit that goes out tonight. Returning to the front, he trades the cup and a fork back for a broom, telling Kuroo, “For your troubles. And it’s healthier than just ice cream.”

“Wait, you don’t have to do this for me,” Kuroo protests.

“I was gonna toss it at the end of the night anyway,” Daichi says. “Sorry about tonight. See you next week?”

“You know me: nothing better to do on a Thursday night than hang around annoying you.”

“If you’re trying to be annoying, you’re doing a bad job of it,” Daichi says without thinking, and then decides he may as well commit. “If anything, you’re our star customer. Quiet, clean, unobtrusive.”

“Really? It doesn't bother you that I always stay right until you close?”

“If you left garbage everywhere it might, but like I said, you're a model citizen, despite your looks.”

“Hey, that's rude,” Kuroo says through a laugh.

“I think you’ll recover from it.”

Kuroo clutches his cup to his chest with a sigh. “Eventually. Thanks for this; I’ll see you next time.”

“Get home safe, Kuroo.”

“You too, Daichi.”

He salutes lazily and turns toward the door. Daichi tries to pretend he isn’t watching him go, but when Kuroo tries to open the door it sticks, so he hurries over to help him out. A strange sense of trepidation courses through his arm in the form of shivers when he places his hand on the door, and he jerks away reflexively. Almost as if he’d been burned.

“I don’t- sorry,” Daichi says, shaking himself out of it. “It doesn’t usually stick.” He reaches up to try again, but Kuroo stops him with a hand to his wrist.

“Shit,” Kuroo says, eyes darting to look past Daichi out the glass panes, where the street has gone completely dark.

“What happened to the power?” Daichi asks with a frown. Their own fluorescent lights are still going strong, shining bright against the white tiles, but right past the front door, the light seems to die against the ink-black dark soaking up the street - no lamps or storefronts lit besides this one, when moments ago everything was as usual. The apartments and convenience store across the street are completely lost in shadow.

“Daichi, I need you to listen closely to me,” Kuroo says in a harsh whisper, wrapping his hand around Daichi’s arm. “Is there a back door to the store?”

Daichi can feel Kuroo’s heartbeat thumping wildly against his skin; glancing up at his face, he notices Kuroo looks seriously worried. Outside, it looks for a moment like the darkness pulses, even though that would be insane. “Yeah, it leads to the alleyway where we take out the trash,” he responds in a quiet voice. “It should be locked,” he continues, hoping that might assuage some of the tension, but Kuroo curses under his breath.

“Fuck, okay, then that booth is probably the farthest point from both doors, right? No, wait, there’s a bathroom. No windows in the bathroom; it would be the safest,” Kuroo mutters to himself as he drops his backpack and begins rifling through it.

“Kuroo, what’s going on? Should I call the police?” Daichi asks, wondering why he doesn’t feel more freaked out right now. Instead, he’s numbly calm, even as the beaming lights overhead flicker once. Kuroo runs quickly to the back room and returns with the largest knife in the shop. Around them, the usual hum of the air conditioning and refrigerators goes silent.

“No, I need you to take this,” Kuroo says, curling Daichi’s fingers around the knife, “and go lock yourself in the bathroom until you hear me tell you it’s safe to come out. No sooner than that, you understand?”

Daichi nods along like everything makes sense, which it very much does not. “And the knife - what am I supposed to do with it?”

“You're smart, Daichi, I'm sure you know how to make it hurt,” Kuroo says with a frayed grin, slightly manic at the edges. “That's for if I don't come back for you. But I will. So let's just call it insurance.”

What?? “What do you mean if you don't come back? You better not get killed by-” and the darkness ripples again, pushing against the door, which heaves an unnatural groan of glass and metal, “- _whatever_ the fuck is out there.”

“Don't worry about me. I'm a professional.” He gives Daichi a wink, which shouldn't make him feel better, but it kind of does. “Now get going. Remember, whatever happens, don't come out til I tell you.” With a push, he sends Daichi toward the bathroom.

Daichi’s tempted to ignore Kuroo’s orders and stand his ground alongside him, but the pitch black outside heaves again, distorting the windows as Kuroo walks over to one of the round, plastic tables and picks it up by the leg to use as a shield. There's a strange kind of confidence in his posture, as if he knows exactly what he's about to get into, so Daichi decides to do the smart thing this time, and closes the bathroom door behind himself, clicking the lock in place. Then he crouches against the back wall next to the sink, trying to wrap his head around what the fuck is happening right now.

He keeps his hand clenched tight around the hilt of the knife, trying to regulate his breathing, because he's suffered through enough horror movies with Suga to know that freaking out will always get you killed. He has to be ready for whoever or whatever is coming for them, because if it sounds like Kuroo can't handle things out there alone, then Daichi is going to help him, promises be damned.

Every second passes like the interminable moment before a droplet of water finally bloats enough to fall from the leaky faucet in the backroom sink.

He’s beginning to feel restless from anticipation when the sound of shattering glass cuts through the store, followed by an unearthly snarl that he can feel vibrating through his skin. It leaves a chill behind, even as another growl begins, and Daichi clutches his knife closer. Oh god oh god oh god, he’s absolute not prepared to survive this.

Through the walls he can hear Kuroo shout a few words that he can’t understand, followed by the smash of plastic against something dense. The _thing_ growls again, and this time it’s met by a strident hissing noise.

Daichi can feel himself growing more and more amped up between each awful sound. He doesn’t know what kind of animal or creature is out there, but he can’t leave Kuroo to face it by himself. He knows what he was told, but it would be cowardly to expect Kuroo to take care of the situation alone. So he stands, knife at the ready, and inches the door open to peek at what’s going on outside. 

He regrets it immediately.

The entire front of shop is covered in broken glass and contorted plastic, even more so after a huge gray mass comes slamming into the wall, knocking the framed artwork to the floor. The gray creature is twice Daichi’s height and mountainous in shape, hulking forward in one massive step away from the wall when another creature comes darting forward.

This one is quick and dark-furred, with glowing cat-slit eyes and a whip-cord tail. It sinks its razor edge claws into the gray monster’s side, wrenching violently downward to score it across its torso. Oily drops of charcoal colored blood pearl up along the scratches and begin flowing sluggishly out, but the monster is only further angered by this. It lurches forward, shaking the smaller cat-like creature off without breaking its stride. The cat goes sliding across the floor with a hiss, nimbly hopping to another table in the corner. 

Daichi doesn’t even know if he’s breathing right now, and his hands are holding the knife so tight that he can’t feel anything but the bite of his own nails against his palms. Which one is more dangerous? Whose side should he take, if any? And where on earth did Kuroo go?

His eyes land on a fallen backpack, books and papers scattered under glass fragments, and his heart plummets like an elevator in free-fall. No, he can’t accept that. Kuroo’s a smart guy: he wouldn’t have tried to play the big hero if he couldn’t handle himself. He’s probably laying low and waiting for the chance to strike. Daichi debates for the briefest moment ducking back into the bathroom, but the gray monster is stomping away from him, toward the cat, which means he has a chance to peek behind the counter if he’s fast enough. He can only hope that Kuroo took cover there.

He commits to the completely suicidal plan of diving behind the counter at the same time that the cat leaps backwards, situating itself on the bench in a defensive hunch. Before Daichi can rush in with his plan, the cat raises onto its hind legs and twists, something happening to its body that could only be described as _transforming_. 

The fur retracts and the legs elongate, as other parts shift and adjust until the creature isn’t so much cat-like anymore as it is Kuroo-like. Daichi is left gaping, still half-hidden in his doorway as the now recognizable form of his friend snaps a hand out to grab a pen and slip of paper, while grumbling all the while. His clothes are looking somewhat worse for the wear, especially with his tail whipping back and forth in clear annoyance, and his eyes are still shining gold, but the rest of him looks perfectly normal, considering the scope of this situation.

“Unbelievable. First all that bullshit with the library, now my favorite shop. The city was supposed to be better than back home, so why can’t I get any damn peace around here? And now Daichi’s gonna think I’m a total _weirdo_ if he didn’t before, which sucks…”

Kuroo is drawing something on his paper in quick, deliberate strokes. The horrid gray thing storms toward him but he continues scribbling, unconcerned. In fact, he looks mostly irritated. Daich isn’t sure if he should say anything, lest he get in the way, but Kuroo makes the decision for him by leaping forward and using his pen to pin his drawing to the monster that swipes at him with one huge arm. The second the paper makes contact, the monster is swallowed up by blue flames that flare quickly outward from the spell that Kuroo apparently just cast. Kuroo is fast enough to dodge out of the way of the first arm, but as the monster bellows in pain, it flails wildly to try and escape the fire ripping across its whole body and clips Kuroo in the side, sending him into the corner with a yell.

“Aw, fuck,” Kuroo groans, shaking glass off himself. The monster stumbles toward him, still aflame and still not downed. It’ll be on Kuroo any second now, and trapped as he is in the corner, it could be bad news.

So, acting on instinct, Daichi yells, “Hey! You!” as loudly as he can while slamming the bathroom door open, trying to draw attention away from Kuroo. For a moment, he’s afraid it isn’t going to work, but then the monster turns, still howling, and now he’s afraid it’s worked too well, because the thing comes charging at him, and all he has is his kitchen knife for defense. 

Luckily, it’s enough time for Kuroo to grab hold of a long piece of shrapnel and use it to stab the escaping monster in the leg. It falls with enough weight to rattle everything in the store that isn’t secured to the floor, and Daichi stumbles forward so he lands on his knees, watching the creature writhe even as it begins crumbling away into an unnatural silvery ash. One thick arm scrabbles backwards to try and hit Kuroo, and Daichi, in a fit of either adrenaline or stupidity, throws his knife right at its bulbous forehead. The blade manages to hit its mark, though it clatters to the ground soon after as the monster finally succumbs to the flames and collapses completely into a giant mound of ash. This leaves Daichi sitting weak-limbed and numb amid the wreckage of what used to be his part-time job, staring dumbly at a still slightly fuzzy Kuroo, who’s splayed painfully against a splintered bench with glass in his hair.

For a moment, no one does anything but breathe. Outside, the darkness ebbs away into the usual light-dotted street, with a few confused walkers glancing around as if they’re not sure how they got where they are. No one’s noticed that the ice cream shop’s windows have exploded yet.

“I thought I told you not to come out until it was safe,” Kuroo says sternly, when they’ve finally decided they can let down their guards. His tail swishes back and forth in little swirls, and Daichi finds himself staring without meaning to as reality begins sinking in.

“That seemed like a scumbag move, leaving you to fight alone. I would’ve felt terrible if you’d died.”

“Aw, you were worried about me.”

“Of course I was, you jerk!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve never died yet.”

“That’s not reassuring in the slightest.”

“It should be, it means- ow, ouch.” Kuroo winces, picking a shard of glass out of his leg. The sight of blood is enough to startle some energy back into Daichi.

“Oh my god, you’re hurt!” He pulls himself to his feet and hurries to Kuroo’s side, careful to avoid the ash and shrapnel. With the glass out, Kuroo’s wound starts bleeding at an alarming rate, blood dripping down to the tiles. “Shit, okay, just stay here; I’m gonna grab the first aid kit.”

Daichi returns as quickly as he can without touching anything else at all, because somehow that makes it all seem less real, and drops down next to Kuroo to begin cleaning his cut.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Kuroo says after Daichi slaps his hands away for the third time when he tries to take over. The first aid kit wasn’t very well-stocked, but there’s enough gauze to wrap around Kuroo’s leg. “It’ll be all healed up in a week. Won’t even leave a scar.”

“Is this another one of your...” Daichi motions with his hand toward Kuroo’s general person, gaze lingering at the patches of black fur still peeking out from under Kuroo’s tattered sleeves. “Uh, powers?”

“Oh,” Kuroo says, then does something that makes his skin shudder before the fur disappears, like it’s withdrawing back into Kuroo’s body, as does the twitchy tail. Daichi stares for a second too long at the space where it used to be. “Yeah, it’s part of the whole package. Handy, right?” 

“Um. Sure?”

Kuroo laughs lightly at the overwhelmed expression that Daichi knows he’s wearing. “Sorry, this is probably a lot to take in. I didn’t want you to get caught up in any of this, but I’d be happy to explain. Somewhere else, another time, if you’re up to it.” He looks so earnest that Daichi can almost imagine the previously present cat ears perking up, and he laughs too, partly in disbelief.

“O-okay. That sounds good.”

“I’m sorry about the store, too. I’m really glad you’re not hurt, though.”

Daichi catches himself wanting to ask how he can be so calm and considerate after all this, but he thinks Kuroo’s explanation might clear everything up, so he just pulls up the ghost of a smile and tells Kuroo, “I’m glad you’re not any worse off than this.” He glances around at the state of the store. “I think I might be fired? I don’t really know how to explain any of this away.”

“I’ll call my people, get someone to come help with the cleanup. They’re good at spinning stories; I’ll have them say you went to take out the trash or something when it all went down. Don’t worry, like I said, we’re professionals.”

“Professional what? Demon hunters?” It’s almost a joke, except for the part where it seems all too accurate.

“Something like that.” Kuroo lurches to his feet, and Daichi darts forward to help him stand up. “You should get going home. I’ll hang around a bit longer until the cleaners get here; put up an illusion so no one comes looking for ice cream before then.”

“You should go sit somewhere safe,” Daichi counters. He files away the part about _illusions_ for later. “Do you really need to stay here to help? You’re injured.”

Kuroo frowns as he pulls out his phone from his bag. “No, I guess I don’t as long as I seal the area off before I leave. I’ll have to write a report anyway.”

“Then come home with me,” Daichi blurts out, turning red at the same time that Kuroo does. “I’m not- that wasn’t a proposition; I just think you should stay with someone who will make sure you’re not worse off than you seem. You took a hard hit earlier.”

“At least buy a guy dinner first, Daichi,” Kuroo jokes, but he smiles kind of bashfully. “You sure you don’t mind?”

Daichi nods, committing to the offer. “We’re friends, right? This is the kind of thing friends do for each other. And maybe you can explain all this while you’re over.”

“Okay. Let me just,” and he gestures toward his phone. 

While Kuroo makes his calls and puts up his seals, Daichi hurries to the back and gathers up all his belongings. When he finally exits out the busted front door to join Kuroo, he’s shocked to find that from the street, the store looks totally normal. Like it’s just been closed up for the night, and not like it’s half-demolished.

“What- how did you-”

“Trade secret,” Kuroo says with a wink. “I’ll tell you soon.”

“What a world,” Daichi mutters as they begin walking back toward his place. The pace is slow because he doesn’t want Kuroo to strain himself.

“Sorry, I dropped my fruit,” Kuroo says sheepishly as they’re nearing Daichi’s apartment building.

“It’s okay. I’ll make something extra special for you next time.” When Kuroo perks up, Daichi laughs. “It’s the least I could do after you saved my life.”

“I’d like to think we saved each other. We make a good team,” Kuroo says, and despite the craziness of everything that happened tonight, Daichi finds that he agrees.


	13. immortality/reincarnation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be sad, and then it just...wasn't. Whoops! An AU kind of based on Hwei Lim's [25 Lives](https://s2b2.livejournal.com/142934.html), though also a prequel to a fic I might write for the kurodai mid-birthday weekend event. Guess we'll see!

_They never remember_ , Keishin had warned him so many centuries ago. _As much as you want to hope that your love will transcend the limits of mortality, it never will._

 _I know_ , Daichi had said, but he hadn’t really known. Not yet.

The first time was an open wound right above his still-beating heart, the pain so acute and bloody that the next twenty-nine years before he could meet his beloved again dragged on jagged and endless. The harvests from the first decade after losing him were spare and sickly. Daichi feels bad about it now, but he’d never been truly despondent until then. Not even Koutarou or Shouyou had been able to raise his spirits.

The second time was even harder. It took three years for Daichi to woo his beloved - this time, a stocky woman working in the stables of her village instead of the young blacksmith that Daichi had fallen for faster than the reddened leaves of a maple in November. Three years in her company, then three years her companion, and then she was gone before the last frost had lifted, along with half her village as the illness spread.

It took a quarter of a century to find her this time, reborn halfway across the world as the best sharpshooter in his village. Daichi dressed the leaves in ruby and flame, and brought with him harvest after bountiful harvest of golden corn and jeweled squash. They kissed for the first time beneath the bone-bare trees and the half-filled moon. They were happy. They made a life together.

But as the years passed, Shigeru and Kentarou began yet another sky-shaking argument, and when the rain meets the surge of the river, there’s nothing mortals can do but try to survive the resulting floods. Daichi’s beloved lost his life while carrying a child to safety, and for the better part of a decade, Daichi spoke to neither of his now-contrite siblings until the storm in his heart could subside, and he could feel his beloved’s soul return to the living plane once again.

The ninth time, he was a court scholar in the confidence of an emperor, and Daichi had to use all his godly tricks to create the chance to get close to him. The twelfth time, Daichi found him on the warm sands of a tiny island, the call of the ocean in his blood. But it had been too long; Daichi could feel the strain of half a century wearing on his darling, and as expected, he passed soon after their long-overdue meeting. The fifteenth time, she was a weaver under the apprenticeship of a master in her beautiful seaside town.

That life, Daichi had time on his side. They met young, and she was healthy and lived well. They should have had years together.

And then she was gone, because if there’s anything mortals know as well as they know love, it’s war.

So it would go, over and over again. Death, rebirth, the tireless search, and the heartbreak when, yet again, they would look upon Daichi with no recognition in their eyes. Every single time. Daichi would know that dedication, that cleverness, that loyalty and humor and gratitude and impossible grace, no matter the body they inhabit. But even if he remains completely constant, in both appearance and temperament, no human memory can carry his love across lifetimes.

By now, Daichi finally understands.

Keishin had tried to tell him, that even more than the pain of losing them stings the pain of knowing they have forgotten every shared moment, every secret told, every precious kiss. But every piece of suffering is worth it, for the moment that Daichi realizes, yet again, that his darling, the other half of his heart, loves him.

There will never be anyone else. And so it continues.

\--

He buries her on a Thursday. Koushi has left his clouds behind to take his favored human form, and he stands close to offer comfort the best he can as Daichi receives the condolences of the other mourners. The sky is gray but clear, as it so often is in this country, and after the rest of the funeral procession has dispersed, he crouches to pat flat the dirt himself, feeling the lifeforce of every plant in the vicinity react to his touch. Overhead, the sun isn’t visible, but he can feel Shouyou’s power coursing through him anyway, the sympathy soaking into his skin.

“Why don’t you come home for a little while?” Koushi asks gently after a moment of silence. He helps Daichi back to his feet, and traces the wrinkles that have set into Daichi’s face after the last sixty or so years. “You’ve been living among humans for so long now, it might be good for you to let go of all this until it’s time to meet again.”

Daichi takes a last look at the cemetery, the stretch of gravestones along the grass, and feels a deep, inhuman tiredness sink into his bones. Koushi is right. He’s been playing mortal for too long. It’s time to return home.

He bends down to leave a final kiss on his spouse’s gravestone before he stands straight and takes Koushi’s hand. The wind thickens, whistling through the cemetery trees as their mortal forms dissolve. When the breeze fades, there’s no sign of them left behind, save for Daichi’s current name etched into marble alongside his beloved’s.

\--

For the next couple of decades, Daichi remains earthbound. He travels around the world, trailing autumn with every step, and when he’s off season, he spends time with his siblings. There’s years and years of news and gossip to catch up on, and even more reminiscing to be done. He walks along crowded beaches with Tooru, and soaks up the moonlight under the star threaded sky with Kei and Keiji. He visits the mountaintops with Shinsuke, and the cliffsides with Aran. Daichi walks through his brother’s rolling fields, laughing when Wakatoshi frowns as he blooms a patch of his flowers too early. He sits high up in the trees next to Asahi as they watch the wildfires eat through another acre of dying forest. He drinks in the sensation of Kiyoko’s snow swirling into flurries around him, and he revels in the sound of Takanobu’s crystalline hail shattering against the frozen pane of ice on one of Kaname’s lakes. 

It’s a time for healing, and reconnection. And he enjoys it, he really does, but one day he wakes, and he can feel it again. The call of his beloved’s soul.

He’s realized by now that it takes at least a decade after his beloved’s reincarnation before he can sense their soul again, and then usually several years before he can locate them among the ever growing number of people on the planet. On the rare occasions that he finds them before they’ve matured, he returns to the earth until some years on, when they’re adult enough to be making their own life decisions.

There are some lifetimes that his beloved does not choose him, or has already found someone else to share their heart with, and in those cases, Daichi goes graciously on his way, knowing that there’ll be time again for them to find one another.

It’s been past twenty years since his spouse passed on, and Daichi thinks it might be time to go searching again.

He’s told his sweetheart the secret of his identity exactly twice. It’s not so easy for mortals to believe in gods that walk among them anymore, and even harder to believe that they could share a love so enduring that they would return to one another time and again, so he keeps the truth hidden away. It’s difficult sometimes, to know more about his partner than they know about him, but each lifetime is different, and in the end, there’s always more to learn. Every lifetime is special; every lifetime is treasured.

This time, Daichi has a good feeling about his search. He decides to head out, putting himself in his early twenties to hopefully match his beloved’s approximate age once they meet.

Koutarou catches Daichi before he insinuates himself back into mortal life, tackling him to the ground in excitement.

“Hey, I wanna come along too! It’s been a while since I’ve hung out with humans, and this decade seems pretty fun.” He smiles down at Daichi, and Daichi can feel the crackle of electricity that runs constant in his veins.

“You want to tag along?”

“Yeah, we can say we’re brothers or something! You can show me all the awesome sports mortals play, and I can finally try cold cream!”

“Ice cream, Kou. It’s called ice cream,” Daichi says fondly. “And sure, you can come with, but we better pretend we’re just friends, so it’ll be easier to explain in case you decide you’ve had enough and run off again. I don’t like messing around with their memories if I don’t have to.”

“Alright, that works. Can we go to Japan first? I heard there were lots of great games there!”

“There’s video games everywhere, you know,” Daichi says, but he decides to just go with the flow. He has to start somewhere.

\--

Koutarou loves Japan, though Daichi is fairly certain he loves every place he’s ever taken the time to visit. Given his nature, most of what he sees comes in quickfire flashes, and though he touches down on certain regions much more often than others, it’s rarely long enough to get a feel for mortal life there.

They settle into life in Tokyo, living in a small apartment together near a university that Koutarou decides he wants to try attending. Daichi thinks he’ll get sick of it soon enough, but gets them both enrolled anyway, hoping it’ll help bring him closer to his beloved.

He feels the pull of their soul so strongly that he thinks he must have lucked out and accidentally chose the correct country at the very outset. He should really thank Koutarou for the help if it turns out to be true. It’s been four months since they’ve begun their life in Tokyo, and Daichi still hasn’t made much progress yet, but he also feels so close that it doesn’t bother him. He’s waited much, much longer than this.

Koushi is visiting for a short time, and he and Kou exhausted themselves on karaoke last night, so Daichi sets out early this morning to get some food for them from the nearby konbini before they wake up. They’re not as used to their human forms as Daichi is, and sometimes they surpass the natural limits of their bodies, so out of pity, Daichi will play room service today.

He’s so busy grabbing handfuls of snacks and every kind of onigiri on the shelves that he doesn’t notice the surge in his connection to his beloved until he’s already paid and out the door. His bag is almost overladen with junk food, and he takes a moment to adjust the handles so he doesn’t drop anything, which is when someone comes stumbling right into him. 

The impact isn’t very hard, but Daichi finds his chest suddenly wet with what smells like coffee, and then there’s someone else’s face right in front of his, looking embarrassed and apologetic. 

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize the cap wasn’t on all the way,” says the love of Daichi’s life when they meet for the thirty-second first time.

Daichi is covered in vending machine iced coffee, and his sweater is a size too big, because he forgot how he looks at the crisp age of twenty-two, and he’s probably making the stupidest face because his beloved has the same smile he did about nine centuries ago, but none of this matters because they’re together again, in the same time and place, and his suddenly too-human heart has forgotten how to beat.

“God, I’m not usually such a klutz, I swear. Here, let me help you,” Daichi’s sweetheart says, pulling a whole wad of napkins out of his convenience store bag and walking forward to begin dabbing at Daichi’s sweater.

“Oh,” Daichi says a beat too late, as the other man tries to mop the coffee off him. “Wait, it’s okay, I can take care of that later.”

“No, man, it’s completely my fault. At least let me pay for the cleaning fees.” He’s so earnest and responsible that it makes Daichi’s chest ache. Some things never change.

“No, it’s seriously fine. I’m just going to put it in the wash. But your coffee- it’s half gone now. I’ll buy you another one.”

“What? No, I’m the one who spilled on you! I’m not making you pay for anything.”

“Okay, well, let’s just call it even then,” Daichi suggests, trying not to be obvious about studying everything about him. Bright, knowing eyes, ridiculous hair, and a good ten centimeters taller than Daichi. Daichi would have loved him regardless of what he looked like, but he definitely can’t complain about this incarnation’s appearance.

“If you’re sure,” he says dubiously. “I still feel bad, though.”

Perhaps this is moving too quickly, but it’s a new generation, much different from when Daichi last dated anyone, so he decides he’s going to take a page from their book and just go for it. “Look, if you really want to make it up for me, I guess you can buy me a coffee when you get yourself another one?” Daichi says, hoping it doesn’t come across as too forward.

But his beloved’s expression brightens, and he gives a little grin, asking, “Really? Yeah, I could do that! Right now?” He gestures toward the vending machine behind him, looking so sweetly excited that Daichi already falls half in love with him even though it’s only been about five minutes.

“Sure,” Daichi laughs.

They walk back toward the vending machine, and his beloved stuffs his damp napkin ball back in his bag. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. Y’know, in case you wanted to call me something instead of ‘clumsy loser’ in your head.” He grins kind of sheepishly, then fumbles some change out of his wallet, hastily saying, “Or not. Feel free to forget that. And me.”

Daichi fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. His beloved is already so cute, he can’t stand it. As if he could ever forget that name now.

“Sawamura Daichi,” he finally says, letting a hint of his smile show as he sticks his hand out. “If you wanted to call me by my name. Because it is. My name, I mean. Yeah.” Fuck, this is a disaster. Why hasn’t a millenium of experience made Daichi any better at flirting?

“It sure is, dude,” Kuroo says as he gives Daichi a firm handshake. “So, coffee? Um, do you like hot or cold?”

“Hot for me, please.”

Kuroo buys them their drinks, and then they stand there together outside the konbini, sipping at their coffees while stealing glances at each other.

“So!” Kuroo finally says after a moment. “Do you go to uni nearby? I’ve never seen you around, but you look like a college student.”

“Yeah, I was living abroad for two years, so I only just started this year,” Daichi says, happy to have some point of conversation, and then they’re discussing schools and classes easily, like any two college kids might. Daichi feels so rusty at this, but he also feels completely at ease with Kuroo, especially when their conversation segues naturally into other topics, like clubs and hobbies and their lives. Daichi talks about Koutarou and Koushi, and his other siblings in vague terms, and learns that Kuroo is an only child this time around, but he grew up alongside a best friend whose parents are basically a second family to him. He played volleyball in high school, and he loves chemistry and biology, and when he graduates he’ll be attending medical school. 

Daichi takes all this in, fitting in the new pieces with the familiar ones, knowing that he can already see himself living a full life alongside Tetsurou if he’ll allow it.

Their chit-chat comes to a natural lull, and Kuroo takes a second to look at Daichi’s face before he flushes slightly and scratches at his nest of hair, looking kind of nervous.

“Hey, I know this sounds completely crazy, but I feel like there’s something kind of familiar about you, if that makes sense. Like we’ve met before, even though I _know_ I would’ve remembered you. Sorry- I’m just being weird,” he says with a laugh, when he notices Daichi staring.

“No,” Daichi chokes out. This has never happened before. Thirty times he’s gone through this, and never has his beloved shown any sign of recognition, until now. Is it a fluke? Is Kuroo just confused? Has something changed? “I- I, um, I totally understand what you mean. It feels like we could’ve already known each other? Maybe?” he stutters, and Kuroo nods.

“Yeah, like in another life or something,” he says thoughtfully, and Daichi just nods numbly back. 

A sudden vibration on Daichi’s leg knocks him out of his daze, and he pulls out his cell phone to see that he’s been sent several whiny texts from the loafers back at his apartment who are wondering where their snacks are.

“Oh, I interrupted your snack run, didn’t I?”

“They can handle a few more minutes without food.”

“Yeah, but I should let you go; I’ve wasted enough of your time today already.”

Daichi nods, because he’s used to this taking time, and he’ll wait forever for Kuroo if he has to. “Thanks for the free coffee,” he says, lifting his can. “And...the free coffee.” He gestures at his shirt, and Kuroo gives him the dumbest, cutest laugh in response.

“You’re welcome for one of those things. Um, this is gonna sound so pushy, but.” And he pauses, ducking his head before looking back at Daichi. “I really feel like maybe we were meant to meet today? Ugh, that’s so cheesy- but- I guess I’m trying to say that it’d be cool if you wanted to hang out again sometime. Preferably without either of us throwing liquids at each other.” 

Even if he weren’t already inextricably tied to Kuroo, those eyes would have won him over, Daichi is certain. As it is, his heart is in his throat at the thought of Kuroo somehow remembering one of their past lives together.

“That sounds great,” Daichi says, almost tripping over his words like he’s a teenager being asked on his first date, even though he’s the farthest thing from it. “I’d like that.”

Kuroo holds out his hand, and Daichi, confused, takes hold of it. Maybe casual handholding is what young people do now. It’s nice, to be able to feel Kuroo’s skin against his. It’s both new and familiar.

“Oh,” Kuroo says, his face turning pink. “Sorry, I was- I wanted to put my number in your phone. Not that this isn’t nice too.” Daichi blushes as well, snatching his hand away and dropping his cellphone into Kuroo’s waiting palm.

They trade numbers, both of their faces still stinging pink, and then hover awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure of how to proceed.

“So, I’m sorry if the first thing I text you is a horrible picture of my roommate stuffing eighty pocky into his mouth at once,” Daichi blurts out to fill the distance between them, and Kuroo nods blankly back, before giving him a thumbs up.

“I’ll look forward to it. See you around, Sawamura.” He flashes Daichi a smile, the one he’s come to love time and time again, and Daichi lifts his hand to say goodbye.

“ ‘til next time.” Kuroo jogs off, but glances back once, perhaps just to see if Daichi is still there, and he gives a little wave. Daichi watches him go, until he’s gone from sight, and then he collapses against the wall of the store, looking up to the sky for answers in the clouds.

Kuroo Tetsurou. Daichi’s true love, here again. Reunited again, maybe in more ways than Daichi could have ever expected.

A soft breeze brushes around him, and Daichi takes it as Koushi’s reminder to get back to the apartment, so he hurries home with their food, even though the only thing on his mind is when he’s going to next see Kuroo again. It can’t come soon enough.

This is going to be a good lifetime. He’s going to make certain of it.


	14. criminal au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a supervillain/police AU (though maybe it's more of a gentleman thief/police AU?) for darling [mozaikmage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozaikmage/pseuds/mozaikmage)!! This is mostly flirting and Daichi being buff. Also, I love Tendou Satori, even if you can't tell from this!!

“Oh, not the hamburger place again, officer.”

Kuroo stumbles over his own foot, steps right into a gray puddle that soaks into his ankles, and curses the day he ever made the unfortunate acquaintance of Tokyo’s most troublesome criminal. At least he didn’t drop his burger this time.

“You have no right to judge my dietary choices. You wear orange spandex,” he snaps, standing stock still because he’s not going to give Corvus the satisfaction of looking around for him. He takes a spiteful chomp out of his dinner, ignoring the smudge of sauce that must be on his cheek now, and watches instead the byplay of headlights glancing off wet buildings, neon slipping across rain slicked pavement. Anything to ignore the way his pulse has ticked up a notch in anticipation. 

“You don’t like orange? Or is it the spandex that’s the problem?” And Kuroo knows he shouldn’t turn, because fuck if he doesn’t already play right into this asshole’s hands every time they meet, but that voice does something strange to his common sense.

“What do you want?” Kuroo demands as he whirls toward the shadows, trying to keep some menace in his voice because the picture he’s painting right now - soaked shoes, bedraggled hair stuffed under the hood of his police-issue raincoat, and both hands gripping his half unwrapped burger like a lifeline - is of a rather pathetic color. He’s off the clock. He wants to go home and take a shower until his fickle water heater gives up on him seven minutes in. He does not want to spend another night dreaming about clandestine meetings with a criminal out to steal more than just money.

Up on the fire escape, leaning forward like he’s genuinely excited to see Kuroo, is Corvus, feather-lined mask obscuring his face and the same somewhat threatening grin he always has on when he comes out to hassle Kuroo on his way home from work.

Kuroo is certainly not going to comment on Corvus’ spandex. The dreaded flush on his cheeks already says enough. 

The smile on Corvus’ shrouded face softens from calculating to something more fond. “From you, a lot of things, officer. But tonight, I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

Kuroo pointedly ignores the first part of that admission, and debates the merits of ignoring the second part too. “Is it that you’re going to commit another jewelry heist? Or that you’ve somehow hacked another millionaire’s bank accounts? Because, yeah, I’d love the details.”

“There’s no fun in giving you too many clues, you know that. Especially when your detectives never appreciate the tips anyway.” Corvus leans on an elbow as he continues to regard Kuroo the way a falcon might watch its prey.

“Maybe if you could market yourself as a more credible source than ‘weirdo in tights that keeps hassling me outside convenience stores’ I’d actually be able to get somewhere.” Kuroo’s tried reasoning with the higher ups before, but the first few times his intel had been dismissed as coming from some crackpot trying to put in his two cents. He’d done his best to hunt down Corvus himself, but a uniformed officer like himself inevitably got turned away and redirected to guarding the perimeter. 

By the time someone with half a brain put together the fact that Kuroo’s informant was always correct, he was told to contact HQ for backup the next time they met, and to do his best to detain the suspect until reinforcements arrived. Convenient how they forgot the fact that Corvus can _fly_ , and Kuroo’s just a flatfoot with a flashlight and baton. Kuroo just about told them as much, because he certainly has no say in Corvus’ comings and goings, and their best bet is to just defeat him at his own game. It’s not like he doesn’t leave them plenty of breadcrumbs to try and catch him in the act. The department wasn’t exactly pleased with this response, but no way was Kuroo going to let them put a tracker and wire on him everywhere he went, either. So now Kuroo turns over any tidbits Corvus cares to leave him, and resigns himself to watching senior detectives running around like headless chickens at each heist, because no one trusts him enough to let him have a go at it. 

“It’s not my fault your superiors aren’t smart enough to realize what an asset you are,” Corvus tuts at him. 

“I’m barely an asset,” Kuroo grumbles. His hood is dripping rainwater into his eyes and he crams the rest of his burger into his mouth before it freezes over. “You just took a liking to me for some perverse reason.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. The only reason I chose you in the first place was because you almost caught me once. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

Kuroo still reminisces about that chase sometimes, when he’s on desk duty and whiling the hours away waiting for someone to come in to ask for directions or report an illegally parked car. He’d seen the shape of someone taking off across the rooftops and done the calculations, figuring that Corvus would make for the closest building high enough to take flight from without getting tangled in the telephone wires and TV antennae. He’d been a few steps too late, close enough to get his hands on a fallen feather and to see the surprise in Corvus’ eyes as he launched upward into the air and away into the night. For a second, Kuroo had been close enough to perhaps touch him if he had leapt off the roof as well, and in the brief moment that they’d maintained eye contact some kind of understand had passed between them before Corvus lifted away. The feather, stiff-bristled and raven black, remains lying on Kuroo’s windsill besides his jade plant as a reminder of that night.

He had found himself close a few more times after that, but he never came as close as he had that first night. That is, until the thief himself started dropping in unannounced for the occasional late-night alleyway rendezvous.

“Anyhow,” Corvus continues, descending a step closer along the fire escape, “I didn’t come here to discuss the incompetence of your colleagues. I came here to warn you, officer.”

“About what?” Kuroo asks suspiciously. The last time, Corvus had given him a warning about being wary of where he placed his trust in the department, and sixteen cops had been busted for corruption soon after.

“Things are going to get heated in the next couple of days, and I’d like it if you kept that in mind during your upcoming patrols.”

“Heated how? Are you planning something?”

“I’m always planning something,” Corvus laughs, but he grows somber again right after. “But I’m also not the only person you need to worry about, am I?”

Which means there’s something going on with the other villains of Tokyo, and Corvus wants Kuroo to keep out of it. But Kuroo has a sworn duty as an officer of the law to stick his nose in where others don’t think it belongs.

“You know I can’t just let info like that go, crow-san.”

“Right, which is why I’m going to tell you now that it only involves people in my profession, and that getting civilians and police involved is the last thing we want. This is us moving against some of our own, and I’d really prefer if you kept yourself out of the action.”

Kuroo hesitates at this. On the one hand, it’s something HQ would definitely have interest in knowing, but as Corvus is implying, it might be more dangerous on the whole if they involve themselves in what is purely villain business. There are power shifts on occasion, alliances made between different criminal factions, and though Kuroo is pretty sure the police know about some of them, this upcoming operation sounds bigger than anything he’s heard of recently on the grapevine. It could upset the balance of the underworld in Tokyo, but he isn’t certain it’s something they should be meddling with. Perhaps it’s better to just see where things lie after the dust settles.

“It’s dangerous, then.”

“It probably will be,” Corvus agrees. “And it’d be such a shame for your handsome face to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Horrible line, never use it again,” Kuroo says with a scowl. He shouldn’t be the one getting flustered, dammit. Kuroo knows how to control a situation! He’s good at working people! So why can’t Corvus get with the program like everyone else?!

The bastard laughs at him. “You don’t have the higher ground here. You told me that I star in your _dreams_ , officer.”

“That was said, to myself, in a moment of weakness! While drunk!” Kuroo squawks. He hadn’t noticed Corvus lurking in the darkness when he was slowly shuffling his way tipsily home. It wasn’t his fault.

“It’s okay, I thought it was sweet,” Corvus says with a kind voice, like he wants to reassure Kuroo about the state of their non-relationship. “A dream is a wish your heart makes, right?”

Ugh. “My only wish is to put you behind bars.”

“Ah, you’re saying matrimony is like a prison? That’s so pessimistic. You and I are both adults; we’d learn to compromise.”

Kuroo hates that he finds this charming. Corvus is the worst. “I didn’t even- you son of a- like I would ever _marry_ \- shut up,” is his witty response after sputtering for a second. He realizes he’s got his finger pointed angrily at Corvus like some kind of cartoon character, and sheepishly lowers his arm back to his side. “I’m not making any promises, but I could try and stay clear. I guess. If I have to.”

“That’s as good as I’m going to get from you, so I’ll take it. I’ll see you later tonight,” Corvus says with a jaunty wave before he begins ascending the rickety stairs back toward the roof. His wings twitch, fluffing some feathers back into place.

“What, you’re gonna stalk me home now?” Kuroo snarks at him, not really expecting an answer as he turns to go his own way, but the jerk is full of surprises. Leaning over the roof’s edge, Corvus cups his hands around his mouth and calls down.

“I meant I’d be seeing you in your dreams, officer. Save some of your sass for then.” With what might be a wink - Kuroo can’t tell from this far down - he takes flight.

Kuroo is left staring stupidly at the roof, a blush overtaking his face. There’s nothing he can even say, and certainly nobody to say it to, so he finally spins on his heel and starts the grim march back home.

That _jerk_.

\--

The next day, Kuroo has a pleasantly calm time at work. He spends much of it taking down reports and going on a neighborhood patrol of the shopping street.

Before he leaves for the night Lieutenant Hanamaki pulls him aside.

“They’ve called off patrol at the wharf for the next week or so because of the staffing shortage, but the chief wants someone to take a last look tomorrow night to scare anyone off and hopefully keep them away. You’re up, Kuroo. Be here for night shift, okay?”

“Yessir. Don’t try to drink Matsukawa-san under the table again; you know it never ends well for you.”

Hanamaki barks out a laugh, and claps him on the shoulder as they exit the precinct. “You picked the wrong person to side with, Kuroo. I’ll remember this.”

Kuroo waves him off and sets out for his apartment. His stomach begins grumbling only one block down, and his usual nightly dilemma arises again. Takeout or home cooking? It doesn’t help that his favorite fast food places are just a couple of meters away.

Corvus is right about one thing. Eating as many hamburgers as he does can’t be good for his cholesterol. Kuroo sighs, knowing he should just go home and cook himself something decent for once, but his sight lands on a familiar face and he swings back into place like a turnstile. Another burger this week couldn’t hurt. 

He slips into line, tugging his cap off his head and tucking it under his arm. His hair springs out in an unruly mess and he grimaces, but before he can do anything about it, the man in front of him in line turns around. His face lights up in cheery recognition.

“Sa’amura-san! They’ve got you working late at the courthouse again?” Kuroo asks him, gesturing at the shiny wall clock that indicates eight past ten. The light bounces off the plastic cover, with a general fluorescence to the whole restaurant that Kuroo finds both comforting and kind of irritating. Maybe it’s the orange floor tiles.

“Ah, Kuroo-san, I thought we promised we were going to make healthier choices,” Sawamura says, smiling at Kuroo. His briefcase is a little battered, and his tie slightly askew, but there’s still a put-together handsomeness to him that always has Kuroo stopping to say hello whenever they meet. Yaku has accused him of harboring a crush; Kuroo refuses to admit anything either way. He does quite admire the way Sawamura can put away a sandwich in five bites.

“We did, which is why I’m appalled to see you here.”

“You caught me red-handed,” and there’s a teasing edge to his words that makes Kuroo’s heart do a rollercoaster loop-de-loop. Yakkun has also hounded Kuroo about sucking up his pride and just asking Sawamura out on a date already, but he fears it might be a bit unprofessional, given the way their jobs occasionally intersect. Besides, considering his unfortunate track record with the city’s criminal element, Kuroo doesn’t want to give HR any more ammunition against him.

“Same to you. You’re not the only one who’s been on me about my health recently.” And why he just brought that up, Kuroo has no idea. Stupid attractive gentleman thieves and their stupid stupid concerns about his eating habits. Sawamura-san doesn’t want to hear about Kuroo’s strange problems.

“Oh? Mom on your case, too? Or a girlfriend?”

“No, nothing doting like that,” Kuroo says sheepishly, trying not to read too much into Sawamura’s expression when he denies it. “Just a meddling...friend.”

Sawamura nods sagely, as if he understands exactly what Kuroo is going through. “Well, let’s not let your friend down, then. Fast food only once a week from now on.”

“I’ll promise if you do,” Kuroo says, and Sawamura extends his hand with a smile. 

“Shake on it. May we be cursed with more overtime if we break the vow.”

“Ouch, could you pick a less harsh punishment?”

“I would, if either of us had a life outside of work,” Sawamura says brightly, and Kuroo has to laugh.

“Okay, you’ve got me there.”

Kuroo was going to take his dinner to go, but after they receive their food, they’re both now entrenched in an argument about memory foam pillows which he certainly isn’t going to concede, so then of course they have to eat together, in a little plastic booth. Sawamura is a madman and dips his fries in his milkshake, which Kuroo will never let him live down. He gets teased in return for drizzling his ketchup directly into the fry container, which Sawamura claims creates more mess than it avoids.

“My arteries are already filing a complaint,” Sawamura says ruefully when they stand up to clear their table.

“I think my kidneys gave up on me a long, long time ago.”

Sawamura walks with Kuroo down the street a short ways before their paths diverge.

“It was nice to see you outside my job,” Kuroo says when they stop; Yakkun’s advice to “ask him out already, you coward,” echoes in his mind. But he can’t bring himself to do it, opting to say instead, “Hopefully I won’t catch you at any of our favorite restaurants any time soon.”

“I’ll try to keep that promise,” Sawamura says with a grin.

“Me too.”

“Have a good night, Kuroo-san. Maybe I’ll see you around court sometime.” The way Sawamura always says his name, with an almost deliberate stress, makes Kuroo wonder if he’s trying to hint at something. Like that he wants to be on more casual terms. It might really be time for Kuroo to ask him out for a drink.

“You too, Sawamura-san. Get home safe.”

On his walk home, Kuroo finds himself whistling the tune of some pop song he’s been hearing on the radio recently. There’s an unexpected amount of pep in his step; he would chalk it up to the easy day he had at work, but the honest parts of him - the parts that drove him to be a cop in the first place, he supposes - know that the last hour had more effect on his mood than he wants to admit to himself. He definitely has a crush. He definitely doesn’t think he’s in a place to do anything about it right now, even if the emptiness of his apartment seems to grow every time he goes home. He’s just too unprepared for this level of change. Maybe once some of the villainy in the city dies down, and he finally gets a decent night’s sleep. 

At least tomorrow should be a cakewalk. The pier is quiet this time of year as exports slow slightly for the month, and the most Kuroo has ever done is shoo off seagulls and harmless wanderers with his flashlight. It’ll be a nice change of pace from downtown patrolling.

\--

So, it turns out to not be a cakewalk.

Kuroo doesn’t even know who’s involved in this standoff anymore, because it’s like every damn supervillain in this horrible city has decided to congregate on the wharf at the exact same time in some sort of twisted community meeting. And here he is, trapped against a shipping container right in the epicenter of this shindig, hoping that no one wants to pay him any mind. Of course, there’s not a day that goes by where things decide not to go Kuroo’s way. He hadn’t even been trying to ignore Corvus’ advice, and yet he’s managed to get himself wound up all in the problem anyway.

“There was no fucking leak!” one of metalbending ones in green yells again. He starts crushing the corner of a different container until one of his team reminds him to calm down.

“Well, then who the hell is that?” someone asks for the third time, gesturing toward Kuroo’s box. Kuroo gulps and pretends he isn’t driven witless with fear, hand resting somewhere close to the walkie on his hip, but not close enough to make anyone nervous yet. There’s a good fifteen or so of Tokyo’s most infamous criminals gathered in a loose crowd all out of punching range of each other. From what he heard them saying before they were alerted to his presence, and came to warily surround him, it seems most of them are thinking it was about high time Kiryuu’s group gave up the monopoly on organized crime in the city.

“He’s just some poor beat cop suckered into the waterfront patrol.” Kuroo thinks that’s the voice of the Grand King, but he’s never seen the man in person before now. He’s dressed in the slick teal cape and long white gloves that Kuroo’s seen in his blurry photos at the station. 

“I thought the twins took care of the guard? Where’d this other guy come from?” Ace, from the looks of it, given his signature silver hair and ridiculous build.

“I still think there’s a leak!”

“No one gives a fuck what you think!”

While they’re arguing, Kuroo tries to do the math on whether there’s any chance for him to run back to the guard booth at the beginning of the wharf. He had attempted to scramble away earlier but now he’s just stuck sprawled on his bottom, like a brainless gazelle, clutching his flashlight like a life preserver. The plain answer to his calculations is no; almost every villain in the city is powered to an extent, and though most of the ones here that he recognizes aren’t known for their violence, they’re all still criminals who happily ignore any laws that stand in their way. 

“In any case, he’s still right here, and still listening in, so someone needs to deal with him before we can continue.” Kuroo is tempted to deny this out loud, but this isn’t the regular banter he shares with Corvus, who never really means him any harm. 

“We could always kill him,” someone mentions offhand, and Kuroo’s skin crawls when he notices the bright red hair of the speaker. They say that anyone who crosses the Guess Monster while he’s working doesn’t come back in one piece.

The familiar sound of air creasing in bursts announces the arrival of someone Kuroo’s never been so glad to see before.

“No one is killing the cop,” Corvus says as he lands among the crowd, positioned so that he’s right between Kuroo and the others. His black wings flap once or twice more before he tucks them up against his back. “No one is touching him either, if you know what’s good for you.”

“What, you’ll flap us to death?” some fool with no sense of danger jeers. “Or steal our wallets?”

“Now, now, don’t test crow-kun unless you’re willing to deal with the fallout,” the Grand King says. He strides forward to drape his arms over the shoulders of Ace and Corvus, who just rolls his eyes behind his mask but doesn’t shake him off. “Now that our late little birdie has arrived-”

“Aren’t you the one who just told everyone not to test me?” Corvus asks, and the King shrugs, flashing Kuroo a smile for whatever nefarious reason.

“I’m just telling it like I see it. We’re all here, so why don’t we move this somewhere more private and do what we came to do?”

“Sounds good to me! We’ve already spent enough time hanging around,” Ace says, already striding off. “The west entrance should work; it gets chained up at night.”

“Wait, hold up. What do we do about the cop?” someone wearing a headband asks. “We can’t let him go.”

“We’ll leave him,” Corvus replies sternly. “He’s not a threat. He hasn’t even called in any back up yet. Have you?”

Kuroo shakes his head mutely, then wonders if he should have bluffed instead.

“We’re not gonna just _leave_ him-”

“Why not? He hasn’t seen anything yet. What’s he gonna do, take us all down? He doesn’t look stupid enough to try,” the Grand King says, still looped around Corvus in a way that shoots a flash of annoyance through Kuroo, even though he shouldn’t have room to feel anything beside terror anymore. “I say we take the walkie and tie him up. Someone’ll find him in the morning.”

“I’ll do it,” Corvus volunteers quickly, stepping forward, but he’s stopped with a hand at his chest as the Guess Monster walks past, red eyes watching Kuroo with detached interest from beneath his mask.

“Now, you can’t have all the fun, birdie. Can’t the rest of us get a turn once in a while?” Kuroo notices the way Corvus stiffens but stops in his tracks, and his blood runs dry in his veins. Shit shit shit, Kuroo might just be about to die here. He should’ve called Kenma one more time. He should’ve eaten more burgers. He should’ve asked Sawamura-san out on a date.

“Hey. Don’t turn this into a bigger thing than it has to be,” the angry metalbending one says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Don’t fret, you gorilla. I just want to have a chat with our new friend!” He crouches down in front of Kuroo, close enough to touch, and asks warmly, “You know who I am, right?”

“I have a pretty good guess,” Kuroo says, fascinated by the way the villain’s smile widens at the joke.

“Then you know what I can do to people who meddle in things they shouldn’t. You’ll cooperate with us, won’t you, little policeman? I would hate for Corvus to lose one of his pretty toys.” He leans in close, waiting for Kuroo’s answer. 

Kuroo takes a deep breath, seeking guidance from above and around, and tells him, “No. You’re under arrest.”

Well. No one ever said Kuroo was _good_ at keeping himself alive.

The Guess Monster tilts his head before barking out a laugh. With a movement so fast that Kuroo doesn’t even realize it’s happening before it’s half over, he’s ripped Kuroo’s walkie-talkie right off his belt and shattered it in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Kuroo can see Corvus jerk forward, only to be held back firmly by the Grand King. He has to resist the desire to shut his eyes, even knowing that his fate has been sealed. But when the Guess Monster reaches down, it’s not to stab Kuroo right through the heart, but to tear a long strip off the bottom of his own jacket.

“You’re a tough little kitten, aren’t you? I like that. No wonder Corvus favors you.” Before Kuroo knows what’s happening, he’s been yanked forward so that he flops dumbly onto the ground, and his hands are being bound behind his back. The Guess Monster steps away, leaving Kuroo lying face down on the asphalt. “No arresting today! You’re welcome to come back and try me again another time,” he says brightly, stuffing another ball of shredded cloth in Kuroo’s mouth before bouncing off. Kuroo is tempted to nip at his fingers, but his self-preservation instincts have finally kicked in.

With his face pressed into the ground, Kuroo can’t quite see what’s happening, but he hears footsteps headed off toward the west entrance, and then he’s alone for a long, long stretch of time.

His neck aches, his jaw hurts, and his back is definitely getting bent out of shape, but the cloth around his wrists is tied tight and he can’t struggle his way any closer to freedom. When he finally hears the sound of someone approaching, he almost yells in relief, until they kick him over so he’s lying belly-up and vulnerable. He recognizes the glare of the villain slinging around accusations of a leak earlier; his narrow frame looks familiar, but Kuroo can’t put a name to the masked face.

“You. How did you know we’d be here tonight?” he asks, digging his heel into Kuroo’s stomach. Kuroo doesn’t give him the satisfaction of wincing.

“Mmmph nnhg grmmg frmgg,” he responds, because there’s still a ball of jacket crammed in his mouth, and the villain scoffs. Reaching down, he lifts Kuroo clear into the air by the vest to look him in the eye, though with Kuroo’s height, his feet still drag on the ground. It should be frightening, but by now Kuroo is just so tired and irritated that it just bothers him instead. At the very least, couldn’t this jerk lift him a little higher so he could stop scraping his ankles?

The jerk raises his other hand, which is now aflame with green fire. He pushes it toward Kuroo, who cranes his neck back to avoid the uncomfortable swell of heat. “Look, you asshole, I know there’s no way you didn’t- hurk-”

Kuroo thinks he’s imagined it at first when a wave of black knocks his captor right over, until his bottom hits the ground. In front of him stands Corvus, wings spread wide and casting an inky shadow. His eyes are dark and unmoved, his broad shoulders squared and solid, and for a moment, Kuroo remembers that the person he’s unfortunately come to view as a casual frenemy is still one of Tokyo’s most infamous villains, even if he _is_ just a thief.

“I thought I made it clear that the officer was off limits,” Corvus says, after having apparently wing-slapped the other guy hard enough to topple him to the ground. The way he says it is chilly enough to make the flame on the other villain’s hand to go out.

“But he-”

“Is there something about the way I said it that confused you? Do I need to clarify myself?”

Perhaps because they’ve just made some kind of alliance, or perhaps because there’s more to Corvus than even Kuroo knows - that only the underworld understands - the other man shakes his head and gets to his feet.

“No, s-sorry, Corvus. It won’t happen again.” He gets to his feet and scampers out of sight.

There’s a second when Corvus turns to look at Kuroo that he can almost see what the others see. The hard cast to his usually relaxed face makes a shiver run over Kuroo’s cold skin before his expression returns to the lightly amused smile he usually sports whenever he crosses paths with Kuroo.

“Oh, officer, you couldn’t listen to me even once, could you?” he asks as he tugs the gag out of Kuroo’s mouth and starts undoing the knot around his wrists.

Their conversation sounds nonchalant, but he can feel the slight tremors in Corvus’ hands as he rubs Kuroo’s wrists. Kuroo remembers that fleeting look of terror in his eyes as the Guess Monster strolled past him to speak to Kuroo, and understands that even Corvus hadn’t been sure how that encounter was going to end. He could’ve really died tonight. 

Kuroo pats his hand and coughs a few times, trying not to lean into Corvus’ sturdy weight as his hands are freed. “I told you I wasn’t making any promises,” he quips weakly.

“You did say that. I guess it’s my fault for assuming it was possible for you to stay out of trouble. C’mon, let’s see how your legs are doing,” and he helps heft Kuroo to his feet. Kuroo grabs the strip of the Guess Monster’s jacket and pockets it to turn in as evidence later.

“Better than my arms.” 

“Yeah, are you feeling any severe pain anywhere? Do you think you could hold on, or do your wrists hurt too much?”

“Huh? I mean, they’re kind of sore, but I think could probably- whoa!” 

Corvus has lifted him up bridal style, holding him up against his broad chest, and Kuroo feels like a featherweight in his impossibly muscled arms, despite having a ridiculous amount of height on him. “Here, wrap your arm around my back,” Corvus says, and Kuroo does so mindlessly, resting his arm right above Corvus’ wings, before he realizes he should be wondering what’s going on.

“Wait, what are we doing?”

“I’m taking you home. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you to walk back after what happened tonight. Sorry, unless you’re not okay with this,” Corvus says, only now realizing how close their faces are, apparently, from the way he cranes his neck slightly away from Kuroo. Under the feathered mask, his skin is a shade pinker. In all the time they’ve known each other, Kuroo has never seen Corvus get flustered. It’s a pleasant change.

“What, being carried away by a known criminal?”

“Okay, in retrospect, I can see why this is an inappropriate offer,” Corvus says, lowering Kuroo back toward the ground. But Kuroo clings tighter to his neck, refusing to step off. This is a dumb decision. This is a dumb decision topping off a whole night of unfortunate circumstances, and Kuroo is a good cop, he really is. He knows better, but Corvus is right. He doesn’t really want to walk home alone after all this. And if that means getting way too cozy with someone on the wrong side of the law, Kuroo’s going to blame it on all the blood rushing to his head from being face down for over an hour, and the adrenaline that hasn’t yet left his bloodstream.

“I’m kidding. I trust you, though god only knows why. You’ve never given me reason not to before,” he says quietly, and Corvus pauses with him dangling awkwardly in midair before straightening his back and hefting Kuroo closer.

“You ever flown before, officer?”

“Not first class,” Kuroo says with a tired grin, and Corvus smiles back.

“It shouldn’t be too bumpy a ride, but I do need you to hold on tight. Give it a try,” he says as he lifts off, flapping so they’re several meters off the ground. Kuroo’s stomach swoops uncomfortably at first, until his body recognizes that he’s being held firmly in place and he can relax slightly against Corvus’ chest. His arms are weakened, but with the thief’s arm wrapped steady around his back, he has no fear of falling.

“This seems...doable. I mean, I’m not afraid of heights, but I _am_ maybe a little afraid of...splatter? Getting smushed into the sidewalk?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you if you’ve got me, okay? I’ll stay low. Let me know if you feel like you’re getting tired.”

With several powerful bursts, he takes them higher, surging forward to take them away from the wharf and toward the city. Kuroo hears a weird whooping noise and then realizes it’s him, crowing like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time as Corvus carries them past the city lights and sleepless skyscrapers. He’s never seen Tokyo like this before, even though he’s lived here his whole life. The people wandering the streets even at this hour, the streaks of color left by car headlights. The air scrapes against his face, but it isn’t too rough, and though it’s cool against his skin, Corvus is more than warm enough to make up for it.

“Having fun?” Corvus laughs when Kuroo keeps swiveling around to take in as much as he can.

“Too much, I think. Times like this make me wish I was powered too. If I could fly- jeez, patrol would probably be a lot easier.”

“Well, I don’t know about that; you might get tangled in telephone wires and stuff if you need to chase someone down.”

“True,” Kuroo sighs. “Still, I’ll miss this. Thanks for the lift.” He turns so that he isn’t face first against Corvus’ chest. He might have to change his opinion on orange spandex after tonight.

“How are you doing?” Corvus asks when they’ve been flying for about seven minutes, and coming up toward Kuroo’s neighborhood.

“I’m great. But why are your arms so strong?”

“I work out,” Corvus replies dryly. “Hold on a little longer. I’ll drop you off at your building.”

“Should I be concerned that you know where I live?”

“You should be concerned about the window that you always leave open at night, instead.”

“Creepy,” Kuroo scolds.

“I try,” Corvus says with a modest nod of his head.

They land on Kuroo’s rooftop without incident, and Corvus gently lowers Kuroo to his feet, waiting to make sure he’s standing steady before stepping away. They look at one another for a moment, because some boundary has been crossed tonight that can’t be uncrossed, even when they fall back into their usual roles. Kuroo should say something, should ask about the meeting or whether Corvus is in any trouble for having a soft spot for a cop. But he wants so badly to just go curl up and go to sleep and forget about everything that happened until he needs to file a report tomorrow morning.

“I know you’re gonna have to write up what you saw tonight, but I think it’d be best for us both if you left out your ride home,” Corvus says as he walks backwards toward the roof edge.

“Don’t worry, the last thing I need is IA poking into my personal life because you just happen to like taking midnight walks in my neighborhood.”

Corvus grins, and ruffles his wings in a motion that Kuroo thinks might be an expression of amusement. “That sure would be inconvenient for them to know. Take care. Get some rest; you need it.”

“T-thanks,” Kuroo stutters out, as Corvus makes to take off. “For saving my ass out there. I wasn’t sure for a second- I think this would’ve ended really differently for me if you hadn’t showed. I’m sorry if that complicates shit for you.”

“It was nothing; I’ll be fine. They all know I don’t like when bystanders get hurt, and most of them respect me enough not to hold it over me unless they’re trying to start something.” His mouth twitches at the corner, and Kuroo thinks that he really underestimated the extent of Corvus’ reputation among the underworld. 

“Uh, that’s good. I’m glad. I don’t want them to start thinking they can use me against you. I mean,” and Kuroo didn’t mean for it to sound like that, like he’s some kind of weakness of Corvus’ that can be exploited, as if he means anything more to the thief than weird work-enemy, “not that it matters, since we’ll be catching you soon enough anyway.”

“Of course,” Corvus says graciously, trying to hide his smile. “I’ll look forward to it. Have a good night, Kuroo-san. Don’t forget to close your window.” And he lifts off, wings spread like midnight against the glitter of the city lights, disappearing around the next building before Kuroo can think of a witty response.

Completely exhausted, he drags himself down the stairs to his floor and collapses into his apartment once his numb hands can finally get his key into the lock. The things he needs in order are food, a shower, and sleep. He completes the first two very, very slowly, but he does eventually manage to get both fed and clean.

It isn’t until he’s simultaneously brushing his teeth and trying to wrestle with the drapes that he recalls the exact words Corvus used before he left.

_Have a good night, Kuroo-san_.

The familiarity of the phrase hadn’t seemed odd at first, perhaps because Kuroo is still a bit addled from the night’s events, or maybe because he really has become far too comfortable with flirting with master thieves. Now, it sticks out in his mind as bright as a floodlight, and he almost lets his toothbrush fall out of his mouth in shock. The feather lying by his window gleams blue-black under the copper glow of his lamp.

Corvus only ever calls Kuroo “officer.”

Huh. How very interesting.

Looks like he’ll be getting hamburgers again sooner than he thought.


End file.
